


Know That You're Whole

by thursdayschild



Series: For the Misfits and the Losers [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Child Abuse, Multi, Self-Hatred, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Stiles, Transphobia, Werewolf Derek, werewolf no one else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 42,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdayschild/pseuds/thursdayschild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stiles. You’re trans. I’m a werewolf. We’re both a little fucked and you’re right, it is scary. But we’re also both a hell of a lot more than that.”</p><p>Stiles hoped that life at college would be better for him. And mostly he was right. Sure, Jackson is a douche, but he still has Scott as well as some new friends. There’s also Derek Hale, who seems to be majoring in brooding with a minor in lurking and may or may not be a werewolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the Hedwig and the Angry Inch song "Midnight Radio."

Stiles walked quickly across campus, feet pounding the pavement and hands clenched into fists in the pockets of his red hoodie. He had his hood up and his head down and it was dark and almost cold and he just hated everything.

But he especially hated Jackson fucking Whittemore.

Pretty much everyone else at school seemed awesome or at least not evil, but then there was Jackson fucking Whittemore with his car and his money and his privilege and his face and his lacrosse scholarship that he didn’t need and his general natural dudelyness and Stiles just wanted to punch him in his testosterone-filled face.

Stiles was not having a good day.

He was walking around campus despite the late hour and chilly weather because it was all he could think of to do to clear his head. He’d had enough of Jackson fucking Whittemore and his bullshit. If that guy made one more crack about Stiles not being a “real boy” or using the “wrong” bathroom or whatever, Stiles was going to kill him. It just wasn’t fair. Everything about college was so great and then there was Jackson fucking Whittemore and Stiles really just wanted him out his life. Expect that Jackson was dating actual goddess Lydia Martin and Stiles really liked Lydia. She was funny and sweet – not to mention totally brilliant and super-hot. And ginger. What more could you want in a girl? She was also in his freshman seminar. It was utterly beyond Stiles why Lydia was dating that asshole; it was like she had Jackson-shaped blind spot in her brilliance. At any rate, it seemed pretty apparent that he couldn’t have one in his life without the other. Plus, Jackson fucking Whittemore lived on his hall so there was really no escaping him.

Other than the total douchebaggery that was Jackson fucking Whittemore, college was panning out pretty awesomely. People called him by the right name because they’d never known to call him anything else and everyone was pretty chill about his stuff, but Stiles was having a hard time focusing on the good things at the moment. All he could hear in his head were Jackson’s earlier comments and the silence that had followed them. Before, Scott, Stiles’s best friend from home, had always been there to jump to his defense when people gave him shit, but lately Scott hadn’t been there and Stiles didn’t know what to do about it. Sure, Allison was great and all, but Stiles still didn’t know how to stand up for himself when people like Jackson fucking Whittemore asked him if was sure he was in the right bathroom.

"Stiles?”

Stiles glanced up. He’d been walking past one of the dorm buildings and, sitting on her bed by her open window, was actual goddess Lydia Martin.

“Hey,” said Stiles, stopping and turning back to her. He grimaced at how high his voice came out and he coughed.

“What are you doing out there? Aren’t you cold?”

"Says the girl with her window open.”

Actual goddess Lydia Martin smiled at him and Stiles couldn’t help feeling a flutter in his stomach.

She cocked her head to one side and contemplated him.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Me? I’m fine.” Stiles tried to laugh and ended up coughing again.

“I’m making tea,” she said. “Come on.” She jerked her head towards the rest of her room.

“You want me to come in?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she replied, rolling her eyes.

Stiles checked his phone and saw that it was ten of eleven and he could still swipe into her building.

“Okay.”

Minutes later, Stiles sat on actual goddess Lydia Martin’s bed, blowing on a steaming mug of what he’d been told was French vanilla chi tea.

“So,” she said, sitting down next to him. “What’s up?”

Stiles sighed. He really didn’t want to make her angry by saying anything bad about Jackson to her, but, on the other hand, he didn’t feel like he had anyone else to talk to at the moment.

"It’s Jackson,” he admitted.

"What’s he done now?” she asked, sounding exasperated.

Stiles smiled faintly.

"He just keeps giving me a hard time.”

“About—?” She flicked her gaze up and down Stiles.

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, Stiles. I’ll talk to him.”

“Thanks,” he said, sure it was pointless, but appreciating the effort on Lydia’s part all the same.

"I know you think he’s not a good guy,” she said gently, “but he’s really not a bad person. He’s just not good at dealing with stuff. Give him time and I think he’ll come around.”

She smiled at him and Stiles could not figure out for the life of him what an angel like her saw in a demon like Jackson.

“I hope you’re right,” he muttered, staring into his tea.

She gave his leg a little squeeze that made his stomach turn over.

“So how’s Scott?” she asked.

Stiles huffed out an annoyed breath.

“What?”

“Scott’s not exactly helping the situation with Jackson,” he said darkly.

"What do you mean?”

“He just hasn’t been around a lot lately.”

"I know the feeling. I’ve barely seen Allison at all this week.”

“I though she was your roommate.”

"That’s kind of my point.”

“I just don’t know what to do without him there all the time, you know? Like, we’ve been friends since forever and suddenly it’s like I don’t even matter to him.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t think of it like that.”

“Yeah, but that’s what it feels like.” Stiles sipped his tea. “I didn’t realize how much I relied on him until he suddenly wasn’t there anymore.”

“You guys aren’t roommates, are you?” she asked.

"No. He lives with Isaac. I have a single.”

"How’d you manage that as a freshman?”

"Note from a psychiatrist.”

"Seriously?” she asked, smiling.

"Yeah.”

"Oh.”

There was a slightly awkward pause.

"Thanks for the tea, Lydia, but I should probably go,” he said, getting to his feet and setting his mug on her desk.

"Oh, alright.” She followed him to the door. “Are you gonna be okay?”

Stiles shrugged.

"I dealt with worse after I came out at home. I just don’t like living with it two doors down from me.”

"I’ll talk to him,” Lydia said again.

On his way back to his dorm, Stiles passed a few people, but one caught his eye: a tall figure in a leather jacket that he recognized as a junior named Derek Hale. Stiles wasn’t really sure what Derek’s deal was except that he seemed to be majoring in brooding with a minor in lurking. Even when Stiles saw him during the day, Derek somehow always managed to be lurking in a shadow or a dark corner. In the edge of his vision, he thought he saw Derek tracking his movement with eyes that reflected a strangely vibrant blue in the darkness. Stiles shook his head and kept walking to his building, trying not to glance over his shoulder at that perfect jaw line.

When he got back to his hall, he found Isaac sitting alone in the lounge with his laptop.

"Sexiled?” he asked, leaning into the doorway.

Isaac looked up at him, face almost as broody as Derek’s had been.

"I have an eight-thirty class tomorrow morning,” he said, voice low and tired.

"Want me to talk to him?”

Isaac nodded.

Stiles walked down the hall to Scott and Isaac’s room and hammered on the door.

"What?” called Scott’s slightly breathless voice.

"You wanna wrap it up in there? Isaac has class at ungod o’clock tomorrow morning and needs to sleep.”

"Oh. Shit. Sorry.”

"Whatever,” Stiles muttered, heading down to the end of the hall where his room was. On his way, he passed Jackson’s room, which he shared with this totally awesome, totally cute guy named Danny. The door was open so, despite how much he liked Danny, Stiles walked quickly, trying not to be seen by whoever might be inside.

"Hey, Stiles,” called Danny.

Stiles stopped, sighed, and turned back.

"Hey, Danny,” he said, finding a smile and leaning in the doorway to speak to him. “Jackson,” he added politely, spotting the douchebag himself sitting at his desk.

Jackson didn’t reply for which Stiles was grateful.

"How’re you doing?” Danny asked.

"Fine,” said Stiles, shrugging. “Got a paper due at the end of the week.”

"Let me know if you still want me to read it over for you.”

"Yeah, that’d be great if I can get it done before like midnight on Thursday.”

"Won’t be reading it then, but if you have it done by ten on Thursday, I could probably take a look.”

"Awesome. Do my best.” He smiled at Danny. “Anyway, I should probably turn in. ‘Night.”

"Sleep well.”

Stiles waved and headed towards his room, grateful that Jackson had, for once, kept his mouth shut.

"Why do keep flirting with that dyke?” Jackson’s voice was scathing and loud and carried right down the hall to Stiles.

He paused, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a breath.

"Dude, shut up,” said Danny.

Stiles hurried to his room and shut the door before he had to listen to anything else from Jackson. He flopped down onto his bed and moaned. He lay there trying not to think about anything and therefore thinking about everything for a few minutes until someone tapped on his door.

"Yeah?” he called, barely raising his face from his pillow.

"Stiles?” asked Scott’s voice.

"Who the hell else would it be?”

"Can I come in?”

"Duh.”

Scott opened the door and came in, closing it behind him.

"What’s up?” Stiles asked, sitting up like a normal person to help Scott deal with whatever it was that was bothering him.

"Nothing,” said Scott, shrugging. “I just wanted to say goodnight.” His hair was messy and he looked a little blissed out, but Stiles appreciated the thought all the same.

"You alright there, lover boy?”

"I’m awesome,” said Scott smiling.

Stiles nodded. Even though Scott was pretty clueless most of the time, he was a good person and a good friend.

"Okay, well, goodnight, Scott.”

"'Night,” Scott replied, heading back towards his own room.

Stiles smiled vaguely as Scott left, but the expression slipped the moment his friend was gone. This bullshit was getting harder and harder to deal with. Whatever happened to “it gets better” or was that just for gay kids and not transgender pansexual kids?

He got ready for bed, trying not to think about it too hard, and then crawled under the covers with a book that he had to read for class. Try as he might, however, he couldn’t get himself to focus on Dostoevsky. His brain kept replaying things Jackson had said to him, things people had said to him in high school, harsh words hate-burned into his mind. He gave up on the book and turned out the light. He turned on his clock radio and found a late-night show in the hopes that he could listen to that instead of the mocking memories. At last his brain began to give into his tiredness and he stopped really hearing the problems of the people calling the DJ. In the distance, he thought he heard a wolf howling, mournful and lonely and he was sure somehow very out of place, but before he could remember why is seemed so wrong he was slipping away into dreams filled with impossible wolves.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day at lunch, Stiles joined his usual table in the rat (which was supposed to be short for refectory, but most people found to be an accurate commentary on the quality of the place). Pretty much everyone else was already crowded around the table, talking and laughing and eating. Stiles shoved a chair between Scott and Danny to avoid sitting near Jackson and plopped his tray down.

“Hey, Danny, do you know anything about Derek Hale?” he asked as he started shoveling curly fries into his face.

"Derek Hale?” Danny repeated. “Besides that he’s totally the most active person on campus? Not really, no. Why?”

Stiles shrugged.

"Just wondering.”

"Derek Hale?” asked Isaac, leaning around Danny to look at Stiles.

"Yeah. You know him?”

"He’s the TA for my psych class.”

 Stiles leaned forward, interested.

"What’s he like?”

"I dunno. Quiet?”

"You don’t know? You just said he was your TA.”

"Yeah, but it’s not like we hang out. Why? You got a crush on him?” Isaac teased.

"Who doesn’t?” asked Danny, saving Stiles the embarrassment of not wanting to answer.

"Scott,” said Stiles promptly, glancing over at his friend who was engaged in the nauseating activity of feeding curly fries to Allison.

"Jackson,” said Isaac.

"Alright, fair,” said Danny. “But still. _Derek Hale_.”

"What’s he study?” Stiles asked.

"Psych, I guess, since he’s TAing it as a junior,” said Isaac.

Stiles nodded, thinking. There was something about that guy – besides his mind-blowing hotness – and Stiles was going to figure out what it was. He couldn’t really explain where his sudden interest in Derek Hale sprang from. Maybe it had been that moment the night before when Derek had watched him go past. Maybe he just had a bad crush. Still. Google was Stiles friend in all things. It had taught him about stuff like binders and HRT. Surely it could help shed some light on the mystery of Derek Hale.

* * *

 

That afternoon, Google betrayed Stiles.

At first he thought that it must be a different Derek Hale, but the numbers added up as far as age went and how many 20-year-old Derek Hales could there be in California?

Headlines and phrases jumped out at him as his eyes darted over the articles.

_Eleven People Killed in Fire_

_Hale House Fire Leaves No Survivors_

_Hale House Fire Ruled Arson_

_Laura (19) and Derek (15), the only surviving members of the Hale family, were taken into protective custody..._

_Manhunt continues for Hale fire arsonists..._

_Kate Argent Arrested for Hale Fire_

_Kate Argent Charged for Hale Fire_

_Kate Argent Convicted for Hale Fire_

_Kate Argent_

_Argent_

Turned out Derek Hale had a hell of a good reason for all that brooding.

From what Stiles could piece together, the story went something like this:

Once upon a time a bunch of Hales lived together in a big house on the edge of a town somewhere in California called Beacon Hills. One day, this psychotic woman named Kate Argent (which, you know, just happened to be the same last name as Scott’s girlfriend) decided that she’d had enough of the numerous Hales. She hired some accomplices and burned the house nearly to the ground with eleven members of the Hale family trapped inside. Eventually, she was caught and convicted for the arson and murders. Derek and his older sister Laura hadn’t been in the house at the time of the fire and so Derek had gone into her custody. The story more or less petered out there, though Stiles gathered that Derek and Laura had left Beacon Hills, which, you know, legit.

Stiles leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath. Now he felt even weirder about the guy because, unlike most Google name searches, he’d turned up and read the details of what had to be biggest and most traumatic event of Derek’s entire life. It sure explained a hell of lot, though.

Stiles gathered up the notes he’d jointed down (Stiles took an insane amount of notes; he’d started doing it to help him focus in class, but it had become habit and now he just had stacks of notebooks filled with notes on just about everything) and headed to Scott’s room. The door wasn’t shut all the way so he just knocked and pushed it open.

"Dude, you will never guess what I just found out.”

"What?” asked Scott.

Scott was at his desk typing something out and Isaac was curled up on his bed reading a book. Stiles flopped onto Scott’s bed and shoved the notebook at him.

"What is this?” he asked. “You know I can’t read your handwriting.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Derek Hale’s freaking life story is what this is. It’s all on Google!”

"You Googled him? You know that’s like two degrees from stalking, right?”

"No, it’s not,” said Stiles. “Employers do it all the time.”

"Are you planning to hire Derek Hale?” asked Isaac from behind his book.

Stiles ignored him and addressed Scott.

"His whole family got killed in a fire when he was fifteen.”

"God. What happened?”

"His house burned down with eleven people inside.”

"Jesus. Did they make it?”

"No, none of them lived. I just said that.”

"Oh my god.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t just burn down.”

"What do you mean?”

"Hello? Arson, Scott! Someone burned it down _on purpose._ ”

"What? With people in there?” he asked, finally starting to look the proper amount of alarmed.

"Yeah. It was a giant freaking murder. She trapped like the whole family expect for Derek and his older sister and hired these guys to help her burn them all to death in their own house.”

"She?”

Stiles took a moment for dramatic affect.

"Kate Argent.”

Scott’s eyes went huge and Stiles was about to feel a true sense of triumph when he glanced over and saw that Allison was standing in the open doorway, looking more than a little upset.

"What?” asked Stiles, staring at her. “Wait. Shit. You aren’t actually related, are you?”

Allison bit her lip.

"She’s my aunt,” she said shortly.

"Shit, Allison. I am so sorry.” Stiles scrambled upright, feeling like he ought to express his apology physically, but not really sure how. Hugging his best friend’s girlfriend, who he didn’t really know well, seemed a little weird.

Allison shrugged.

"She was crazy.”

"Was she really?” asked Stiles, trying and failing not to sound too eager.

"Yeah.” Allison sighed and came to sit next to Stiles. “They let me visit her once in jail.”

"What happened?” asked Scott, looking concerned, but interested.

Allison chewed her lip while the three boys watched her. Isaac had put his book down and Stiles had unconsciously poised himself to take more notes.

"She told me that she _had_ to kill those people, that it was her duty. She never even denied the charges. She said she killed them, but she wouldn’t say why. Until I went to see her in jail and she told me.” Allison stared at her hands, brow furrowed. “She’s my dad’s sister, but she’s a lot younger than him and we were always more like sisters than anything else. To see her lose it like that—.” She shook her head.

Scott got up and quickly came to sit next to her, taking her hand.

"What did she tell you?” Stiles asked, still curious.

"It’s okay. You don’t have to tell us,” said Scott, shooting Stiles a “what is your problem?” look.

"No, it’s fine.” She brushed her hand across her face and pulled on a smile. “She told me that she had to kill the Hale family because they were werewolves.”

There was a long silence.

"What?” asked Stiles.

"Yeah. Like I said, she lost it.”

"Wow,” muttered Scott.

"So did you grow up with her in Beacon Hills?” Stiles asked, still trying to put the picture together.

"No,” said Allison. “My family moves around a lot for my dad’s work. We went to the town for her trial, though. It wasn’t the best.”

"How long were you there?” Scott asked.

"Long enough that I was definitely the school freak.”

Scott shook his head sympathetically, wrapping an arm around Alison’s shoulders.

"But seriously. She thought the Hales were _werewolves_?” asked Stiles.

"That’s what she told me.”

"Weird.”

"Yeah.”

"Anyway,” said Scott, clearly trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. “I’ve gotta get to class.” He got to his feet, grabbing his bag. “Allison?”

"Yeah.” She followed him to the door.

"See you later, Stiles,” Scott called, barely glancing back.

"Yeah, see you,” Stiles muttered. He sat on the bed, staring at his notes. Something about the way Allison had told her story had seemed off. Maybe Stiles just wasn’t used to hearing people talking about their psycho killer aunts, but he was damn used to hearing people lie, given how often he did it himself, and he knew what that sounded like, knew the look people got in their eyes. Some part of Allison’s story hadn’t been true.

"You just gonna stay here?” asked Isaac after a minute.

"What? Oh. Sorry, Isaac.” He slid off Scott’s bed and headed back to this own room.

He slumped onto his bed and thought about what Allison had told them. If it was even true. The Hales had been killed by her aunt, that part checked out at least. Did Derek know he went to school with the niece of the woman who had murdered basically his entire family? Surely not. And why had she done it? Had she really thought the Hales were werewolves and that she was some kind of werewolf hunter? Maybe she’d just watched too much _Buffy_ , which, to be honest, so had Stiles, but he didn’t go around burning people alive in their own homes – or anywhere else for that matter. And what had Allison been lying about?

And what if they really had been werewolves, he thought idly. It would explain why he’d heard a single wolf howling near campus. And why Derek seemed to pop up out of nowhere. And why he always seemed to know when someone was coming up behind him. And why his eyes had been glinting that weird blue in the dark the night before. Some dogs had blue eyes, right? Huskies did and they seemed pretty wolfy.

Stiles shook himself. He was being ridiculous. Derek Hale was not a freaking werewolf. He was just a good-looking guy with an insane amount of emotional baggage.

Stiles grabbed his laptop to start doing research for his paper.

What would it mean if Derek was a werewolf, though? What would be the signs?

Stiles was halfway through the Wikipedia page on werewolves when he realized what he was doing. Damnit, he had a paper to write.

But what if...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other news, the tentative update schedule is Monday, Wednesday, Friday. If I can't keep up with that, I'll take it down to twice a week.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Self-hate and body-hate

“Come on, let’s go!”

“Where are we going?” asked Stiles, looking up to see a very excited Scott standing in his doorway.

"Lacrosse?” he said as if Stiles should have known already.

"You’re not on the lacrosse team. This is college, remember?”

"Intramural. I signed us up.”

"You what?” Stiles demanded. There was no way that would go well. There was just no way.

"Come on, it’ll be fun.” Scott grinned at him, clearly very oblivious to just how wrong he might be.

Stiles glared at him and Scott beamed right back and it was obvious who was going to win this one. Stiles sighed and got to his feet.

"Lemme change out of my jeans.”

"Awesome.”

Twenty minutes later, they stood on the edge of the lacrosse field with a range of other guys. Some of them, like Boyd and Danny, looked like they might actually know what they were doing, but then there were guys like Isaac and Stiles, who weren’t much wider than a lacrosse stick themselves.

"Alright, people,” barked the coach and the boys fell silent to listen. “My name is Coach Finstock and I’ve been bullied by the administration into teaching you to play lacrosse even though my _job_ is to coach actual lacrosse players.” He glared at them like this was entirely their fault and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “I’ve got a list of the people who signed up already. If I don’t call your name, come talk to me afterwards. Okay, Boyd, Vernon?”

"It’s just Boyd.”

"Right.”

Finstock went through the rest of the names, passing McCall, Scott and Lahey, Isaac, and eventually reaching “Stilinski, um—?”

"Stiles,” Stiles supplied quickly.

"That’s not what this says.”

Stiles shot Scott a look, but Scott just shrugged and shook his head.

"Well, that’s my name,” said Stiles firmly.

"You do know that this is the _men’s_ intramural lacrosse team,” he said, looking from the paper to Stiles.

"Yeah,” said Stiles, folding his arms and shifting uncomfortably.

"And you know that we do actually have a women’s intramural lacrosse team?”

"So?” asked Stiles, trying to sound brave and confidant and starting to fail.

"So, don’t you think you ought to be there instead?”

"No.” And of course his voice would sound extra high right then.

"This is the intramural team,” said Scott loudly. “Don’t you have to take everyone?”

"All the _men_ , yes.”

"Stiles is a guy,” Scott said, voice rising in anger. “Just let him play.”

Finstock raised his eyebrows at Scott.

"I don’t know what your friend’s deal is, kid. I’m just going by the paperwork. This is the wrong team for Stilinski here.”

"Well, the paperwork is wrong,” said Scott hotly.

"Just drop it,” Stiles muttered, feeling himself flush as everyone stared at him.

"No,” said Scott at once.

"I said drop it!” He turned and started walking off the field.

Stiles didn’t run. He wasn’t going to run away from that Finstock bastard. He was just walking back to his room. Quickly. Just leaving. Because he wanted to. Not because anyone was making him. He didn’t want to play lacrosse again. He’d never been that good, anyway. They’d probably only let him play in high school because his dad was the sheriff and would have called them on Title Nine or something. He _wanted_ to leave. Stiles bit his lip hard as the grass in front of his feet started to blur. He wasn’t going to cry. Crying was for girls and Stiles wasn’t a girl. He wasn’t, goddamnit; he wasn’t!

Eventually, he dared a glance over his shoulder and, once he was sure no one was looking, he broke into a run, stumbling as, despite everything, he started to cry. He pounded his feet into the ground, running as hard as he could, not looking where he was going, and, next thing he knew, he’d crashed right into someone.

Stiles staggered backwards, mumbling hurried apologies and praying that when he looked up he wouldn’t see Jackson fucking Whittemore.

He didn’t.

He saw Derek fucking Hale.

Which was, quite possibly, worse.

“Sorry,” he muttered again, stepping quickly back from Derek.

“You okay?”

Stiles stared at him. Derek Hale wanted to know if he was okay? Was the sky falling? Was the world ending? For a moment, Stiles was so thrown off that he forgot to hate everything.

“Fine,” he said, trying to get away before Derek saw he was crying.

Derek just nodded and Stiles hurried away from him, not daring to look back. He wiped his face on his hoodie sleeve and somehow made it to the dorms, but before he could get into his building, Lydia called his name.

“Stiles? Are you okay?”

He looked up at her.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?” she asked, her face pulling in with concern.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, pushing past her.

“Stiles—?”

“Just leave it, okay? Just leave me alone! Why can’t everyone just leave me the fuck alone?”

He hadn’t meant to shout at her, but it was out now and there was no taking it back. He looked at her shocked face for a moment before turning away and running into his building. He stumbled up to his floor and down the hall. He stood in front of his room, crying and swearing as he fumbled with the lock. At last he got it open and he shoved his way inside, tripping over his discarded jeans. He locked the door behind him and threw himself down onto the bed.

And sobbed.

He couldn’t help it. He just sobbed, muttering hateful things around his tears as he punched at his mattress. He hated everything. He hated Finstock for outing him in front of all those people and being such an asshole about it. He hated Scott for signing him up for something he clearly couldn’t do. Sure, he’d been on the high school team, but that had been high school; it had been different back then and they’d only had the one team. He hated Derek Hale for seeing him cry. He hated Lydia for trying to help when obviously she had no fucking idea what he was going through. How could she? Perfect Lydia had no clue how he felt. He hated Jackson for sitting smugly a few doors down with his lacrosse team gear and his manliness and his cisprivilege. He hated fucking everything.

But mostly he hated himself.

He hated that he was crying. He hated that he hadn’t stood up for himself. He hated that he’d run. He hated that he’d gone at all. He hated that he’d shouted at Lydia. He hated that he hadn’t said more. He hated that he was small and weak and that Finstock had been able to tell just by looking at him. He hated that he’d never pass. He hated his thin arms and legs. He hated his wide hips. He hated his narrow waist and his narrow shoulders. He hated his delicate wrists and his small hands. He hated the rounded corners of his jaw and his round nose and his round cheeks and his round everything. He hated his weak muscles that just wouldn’t develop the way he wanted them to not matter how hard he tried. He hated his slender neck and his high-pitched voice. And he hated, absolutely fucking hated, his stupid fucking chest.

There wasn’t a damn thing he liked about himself and maybe he if lay there long enough without moving everyone would forget about him and he would just die and his stupid fucking body would rot and finally be _gone_.

Stiles was still breathing heavily and unevenly, but he’d finally stopped crying when there was a gentle tap on his door.

“Stiles?”

Of course it was Scott.

“Go away,” he said thickly.

“I’m so sorry. I was such an idiot. I didn’t—. I’m really sorry.”

Stiles was silent. Scott was so not someone he wanted to talk to right now.

“I don’t know how he found out. I swear I didn’t tell him.”

“Did you give him my school email?” Stiles asked, his voice empty and rough.

“Yeah,” said Scott after a moment.

“So he could get all my records and stuff.”

“Oh.” Scott was quiet. “I’m gonna quit. So’s Danny.”

Stiles sighed and pushed himself upright.

“You guys should play. You love lacrosse.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go for it,” he said, trying to sound off-hand.

“Can I come in?”

Stiles hesitated.

“Later,” he said at last. “I’ve got homework. I need to focus.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at dinner?’

“Yeah.”

“Okay, see you then.”

Stiles listened to Scott’s footsteps going down the hall and then the sound of his door opening and closing. He collapsed back onto his bed, lying on his side and staring at the wall.

Stiles didn’t go to dinner.

* * *

 

“Hey man, are you okay?” asked Danny when Stiles got to lunch two days after the lacrosse incident. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Stiles shrugged.

“I’ve been really busy.”

Danny nodded, accepting the lie and turning back to his conversation with Scott.

Stiles had gotten good at lying in high school and these days it felt like lying was all he did. He lied about how he was doing. He lied about his feelings. He lied about his homework. He lied about having gone to dinner. He lied about his body. He felt like if someone pulled back the layers, it would just be lie after lie and there’d be nothing underneath, no core to him at all.

He faked a smile for Lydia as she joined their table and then looked away quickly as Jackson followed her.

“Hey, Stiles,” said Isaac.

“Yeah?”

“Got a fun fact for you.”

“What?” he asked, managing to sound interested.

“Derek Hale is majoring in criminal justice. He wants to be a cop or something.”

“That man should _not_ be allowed in a uniform,” said Danny. “He’d be a traffic hazard.”

“Is that all you think about?” asked Scott.

“Have you seen the guy? He’s like a Greek god or something.”

Stiles agreed whole-heartedly, but kept his mouth shut for once. He didn’t feel much like talking. Still, Derek Hale was an intriguing topic, though not as intriguing as the way Allison stiffened at the sound of his name.

“Since when did we become the Derek Hale fan club?” she asked sharply. “It’s not like he’s even a nice guy.”

“Nobody said he was a nice guy. Just a hot guy,” said Danny with a shrug. “Calm down.”

“Whatever,” Allison muttered, turning away to talk to Lydia.

“Did I miss something?” asked Scott, confused.

“Probably,” muttered Isaac and Stiles almost smiled.

Scott was his best friend, but he wasn’t always the sharpest crayon in the box.

“Shit,” muttered Isaac, glancing at his phone.

“What?” asked Scott.

“I’ve gotta go. I’m supposed to meet with you-know-who to talk about my paper for class.”

Scott frowned at Isaac.

“Derek,” said Isaac in a stage whisper, rolling his eyes.

“Oh!”

“Yeah.”

Stiles perked up a little when he found out that Derek held TA hours every Thursday from one to three in the student union. Stiles didn’t have class until three-twenty and the student union was as good a place as any to try to write his paper. 

* * *

 

By the time Stiles was running late for class, he’d managed on stare at Derek and read rather a lot about lycanthropy. Well, he could write his paper that night. It had been the plan all along anyway.

* * *

 

Stiles almost didn’t go to class the next day. But he’d somehow managed to finish the paper and it seemed a shame not to turn it in. Plus, Lydia would actually notice if he wasn’t there and she’d probably ask him where he’d been and then he’d just have to come up with another lie. And that was an awful lot like work. So he hauled himself into more vertical position, packed his bag, and went to class, where he utterly failed to pay attention because maybe he hadn’t slept the night before, but it was all a little hazy. Which probably wasn’t a good sign. But he went. Instead of lying on his bed staring at the wall. Like he wanted to. 

* * *

 

Maybe someone had talked to Scott or maybe he was just more observant than Stiles gave him credit for, but he started just showing up more. He would appear in Stiles’s doorway before mealtimes and take Stiles, sometimes forcibly, with him to the rat. Stiles didn’t mind. It was nice to know that someone cared. Not that he hadn’t already known that Scott cared, but the evidence was nice, in a way. A lot of the time he just wanted Scott and everyone else to leave him alone, but some annoyingly sensible part of him knew that hiding in his room forever was the opposite of healthy. So he went with Scott and most of the time it wasn’t even that bad, once he’d resigned himself to it.

“And so then I said, “I don’t care what you put on your iguana, as long as you do it somewhere else!”

The table erupted into laughter and it was a moment before Stiles realized that he was laughing too, truly and honestly and just as raucously as everyone else. Scott caught his eye and grinned at him and Stiles grinned back. It felt good. It didn’t fix anything, but it felt good. Scott could be, and often was, a bit of an idiot, but he was Stiles’s idiot and his best friend. He couldn’t fix anything, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help.


	4. Chapter 4

“Can I help you?”

Stiles nearly fell out of his chair as he scrambled to close his laptop and notebook at the same time as he whipped around to find himself face to face with Derek Hale. He almost knocked the chair over and his notebook and pen went sliding away from him across the student union carpet.

“No,” he said at once as he dropped to the floor to recapture his wayward possessions. “No, I’m— I’m good.”

“You’ve been sitting here the entire time I’ve been hold my TA hours. You aren’t even in my class.”

“It’s the student union,” Stiles said defensively. “I’m a student. I can sit here all I want.”

“Well, in future, don’t sit here staring at people. Gives them the wrong impression about you.” He huffed and turned away.

“Sorry,” Stiles said at once. Which sounded bad, sounded like an admission. And he wasn’t admitting to anything. He was denying everything. “I mean. Sorry I gave the wrong impression,” he hastily amended. “I was just— doing research. For a paper. For a class.”

“Right,” Derek said, clearly unimpressed.

“So how are you?” asked Stiles without thinking. He did that a lot, just sort of opened his mouth and let words come out.

Derek turned back.

“Fine,” he said, speaking slowly and with distaste. “How are you?”

“Fine. You could even say good. I’m good. Really good.” He managed to shut his mouth on his babbling before it got any worse.

“That’s good,” Derek replied, the barest suggestion of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Stiles licked his lips. Derek freaking Hale was talking to _him_ – to Stiles! But now wasn’t the time to get carried away, now was the time to focus and investigate. He’d written a plan of action in his notebook, but he couldn’t very well check that now, could he? Think, Stiles, he told himself. Right! Yes. Step one: check palms for hair.

“I’m Stiles Stilinski, by the way,” he said, holding out his hand to Derek.

“Your parents named you Stiles Stilinski?” he asked.

“No. And I get that a lot so don’t think you’re being clever.” He glanced down at his outstretched hand and raised his eyebrows.

“Derek Hale, but something tells me you already knew that.”

Derek took a step forward and shook Stiles’s hand. Stiles gripped unnecessarily tightly, trying to get a feel for Derek’s palm. It felt like the palm of any other large, strong hand, but monstrous.com’s article on how to recognize a werewolf had said that they might shave their palms. Which was just weird to think about.

Derek was pulling his hand away when Stiles remembered step two: check length of index finger. He glanced down, trying his best to be subtle, but Derek’s hands looked normal. Sculpted by the gods, yes, but other than that he just had normal hands.

Step three: check for unibrow was easy enough. No unibrow on Derek Hale’s perfect face, though his eyebrows were pretty intense. Maybe he plucked them? He had a sudden imagine of Derek Hale carefully plucking his eyebrows in front of a mirror and Stiles had to stifle a laugh.

“Anyway,” said Derek, starting to turn away again and giving Stiles an excellent opportunity to execute step four: see if ears are pointed. They weren’t.

It looked like was going to have to skip step five: see if teeth are pointed as the likelihood of Derek smiling at him was probably down in the basement with Stiles’s ability to function like a normal human being.

What had the last sign been? Oh yeah.

“Derek,” he said, a little nervously.

Derek turned back again, starting to look at little annoyed.

“What?”

Well, that was one out of six. Derek’s eyes were definitely “strangely compelling.”

"What?” Stiles asked after a moment.

"You said my name?” he prompted.

"Oh right. I just wanted to, um, apologize for running into you the other day.”

Derek shrugged.

"It’s fine.”

"Right,” Stiles muttered.

Derek turned away once more and walked off, glancing back over his shoulder once to give Stiles at odd look.

After he was gone, Stiles dropped back into his chair and grabbed his notebook. He glanced down a list of other signs of lycanthropy and didn’t find much. Derek certainly looked powerful enough and Stiles could easily imagine him having “an obsession with wandering in cemeteries at night,” but most of the signs were things he couldn’t tell just from looking, like dry tongue and insomnia. He sighed, concluding that his preliminary investigation was inconclusive.

Of course, he didn’t _really_ think Derek Hale was a werewolf, but it was fun to imagine. And, he had to admit, kind of hot.

* * *

 

Stiles drove the Jeep home for fall break. Scott was on navigation, sitting shotgun with a pile of print-offs from Google maps and the GPS on Stiles’s phone. Allison was in the back with a pile of duffle bags containing all the things they might need for four days in Scott and Stiles’s hometown. At first, Stiles had counseled Scott against bringing Allison home so soon, but most of their friends were leaving for break and Scott hadn’t wanted her to have to spend the time alone in her room. It was a long drive, but they had each other for company and they’d managed to find some decent radio stations.

Stiles, however, was having trouble sitting still. This was, of course, nothing new, but it made driving difficult and he had to pull over a couple of times just to get out and move around. He was excited for more than seeing his dad. Scott kept giving him reassuring smiles every time Stiles asked him to check the GPS on his phone to see how much further they had to go.

"Hey, this is starting to look really familiar. I think our exit is soon.”

Scott checked the directions.

"Yup. Should be two more exits after this next one.”

Stiles nodded and tried to keep from speeding. Getting home faster wasn’t going to make the next day come any sooner.

He dropped Scott and Allison off at Scott’s place, waving good-bye with a cheery, “Don’t forget to hide the condoms!” and took the familiar path between Scott’s house and his. He pulled into the driveway at last and parked the Jeep. He patted her hood as he got out and grabbed his duffle. His dad was on the porch before he even had the Jeep’s door closed.

"Stiles!”

"Hey, Dad.”

Stiles let his father pull him into a tight embrace, unable to keep himself from echoing his grin.

"How are you doing? How was the drive?”

"The drive was fine,” Stiles replied, locking the Jeep and following his dad into the house. “Long, but fine. I got Scott and Allison back to his place in one piece – well two pieces, one piece each.”

"That’s good.”

"How’s it going around here? Anything exciting?”

"Not really. Crime level dropped with you and Scott off causing trouble somewhere else.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and deposited his bag at the bottom of stairs before heading to the kitchen, getting a glass of water, and dropping into a seat at the table. Driving was unnecessarily exhausting.

"How are you feeling about tomorrow?” his dad asked, sitting down with Stiles at the kitchen table.

Stiles licked his lips. His dad had been really great about everything, but it was still weird talking with him about it.

"Good,” he said. “A little nervous, I guess. But good.”

His dad nodded.

"I’m glad you’re doing this,” he said after a moment.

"Really?” asked Stiles, looking up.

"Of course. It’s what’s right for you.”

"Thanks, Dad,” he said quietly.

Sheriff Stilinski nodded and was silent for a moment.

"So, how’s school going? Tell me everything. Well, maybe not everything. Everything that’s appropriate for an old man like me to hear.”

Stiles smiled and launched into stories of his friends’ escapades.

* * *

 

"So how’d it go?”

Stiles hadn’t even finished the ride home from the doctor when Scott called him.

"Nice timing, dude. We aren’t even home yet.”

"Your dad drove you?”

"Yeah.” Stiles glanced over at his father. “It’s Scott,” he told him.

"So how’d it go?” Scott asked again.

"It was fine.”

"That’s it? What happened?”

"I talked to this doctor and he told me a bunch of stuff and gave me the first shot. I have to give them to myself every two weeks,” he said.

"You have to give yourself shots?”

"Well, I _can_ get a doctor to do it, but it’s easier to just do it myself. Can’t be that hard. Doc showed me how.”

"So how do you feel?”

"Scott, it hasn’t even been half an hour.” He rolled his eyes.

"Well, what was it like?”

"I dunno. It hurt. It’s really thick, you know? You can feel it going into the muscle; it’s weird.”

"That sounds—.” Scott searched for a word. “Weird,” he finished, a bit lamely.

"It is. But it’s good. Or it will be.”

"Good.”

"Okay, we’re almost home. I gotta go. You guys are still coming for dinner?”

"Yeah.”

"Awesome. See you then.”

Stiles hung up and turned to his dad as they got out of the car.

"So,” Sheriff Stilinski said. “Feeling good?”

"It still kinda hurts, but yeah.”

He smiled at his son and went to unlock the door, Stiles following him. They went into the kitchen.

"What were you thinking about for this dinner?” he asked, looking into the fridge.

"I was going to make spaghetti and meatballs,” said Stiles.

"I do know how to cook, Stiles. You don’t have to do the work when you’re on break.”

"No, it’s fine. I miss cooking when I’m at school. Anyway, I got the stuff when I went to the store last night.”

Stiles started getting the things he needed together and his father settled at the kitchen table. Stiles worked in silence for a little while before speaking.

"So are really okay with this?” he asked quietly, his back to his father, hands busy making meatballs.

"What do you mean?”

"You know, _this_.” He gestured down at himself.

"Stiles,” Sheriff Stilinski said, getting to his feet and crossing the kitchen to where his son stood, frozen and uncertain. “Of course I am. I just want you to be happy.”

"I don’t mean with me going on T,” he muttered.

"I know.”

"But you can’t actually want this for me.”

"Only because it’s making you hurt.” He gently pulled Stiles away from his work to face him. “I want to you to be happy and safe. And, yes, I worry about you because of this, but it’s a father’s job to worry about his son. I worry because I love you.”

"I love you too, Dad,” Stiles said quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The web page that Stiles was looking at is http://werewolves.monstrous.com/how_to_recognize_a_werewolf.htm
> 
> Also, this was going to be two chapters, but they were both kinda short so I put them together. Figured you guys would like that better.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles hadn’t been back on campus three hours before he ran into Derek Hale. He was just getting coffee out of one of the vending machines in the student union and there he was. Stiles couldn’t help looking at him. It was late and there weren’t that many people around so what else was Stiles supposed to look at while he was waiting for his coffee? He wasn’t staring. He was just looking and then Derek happened to look back at the same time and then they were looking at each other. Like full-on eye contact. And then Derek was walking towards him and Stiles almost forget to grab his cup when the machine beeped.

"Hey,” said Derek.

"Hi,” Stiles replied after glancing around to check that there wasn’t anyone else Derek could possibly be talking to. “Um. How was your break?”

"Fine.”

"Did you stay here or leave?” Stiles asked.

"I stayed.”

Stiles nodded, trying desperately to think of something to say that wasn’t totally weird, but he found himself so fixated by Derek’s perfect face that it was hard to think of anything at all. Derek’s nostrils flared just a little when he breathed in and it was a moment before Stiles realized that he was just standing there watching Derek breathe.

"You had a good break,” Derek stated.

"Um. Yeah,” said Stiles, confused.

Derek nodded.

Stiles frowned at him. Something about the way Derek was looking at him gave Stiles the distinct impression that he somehow _knew_. But there was no way Derek could know that he was on T now. It didn’t show or anything.

"What?” asked Derek after a moment.

"Nothing.” Stiles took a sip of his coffee and nearly burned his tongue. “What did you mean about my break being good?”

Derek’s eyes went just a tiny bit wide – or maybe Stiles had just imagined it – and he shrugged.

"I’ll see you around,” he muttered and turned away.

Stiles wanted to say something to stop him, but couldn’t think of anything so he just watched him go. Definitely not staring at his perfect ass in his dark jeans. Not at all.

Stiles shook himself and headed back towards his building, sipping his coffee as he tried to gather the brain power he would he need to finish the homework he’d neglected over break. When he got back to his hall, however, he was distracted by Scott’s open door.

"Hey, kids,” he said, stepping inside and smiling at Scott and Allison.

"Hey, Stiles.”

"So guess who I ran into in the student union?” he said, leaning against Scott’s dresser.

"Who?” Scott asked.

"Derek Hale.”

Scott rolled his eyes.

"No, listen. It was totally weird.”

"What happened?” asked Allison, sounding slightly on edge.

"Well, for one thing _he came up and started talking to me_.”

Stiles waited until Scott looked reasonably impressed before continuing his story.

"And so I asked him how his break was and stuff and he said it was fine and then he just told me that I had a good break.”

"What?” asked Scott, confused.

"He was just like,” Stiles dropped his voice to mimic Derek’s, ““You had a good break.” He said it like a fact, though. Not a question. It was bizarre.”

"So?”

Stiles huffed out an annoyed breath in Scott’s direction.

"So it was like he knew.”

"He was probably just being Derek,” said Scott, shrugging and getting to his feet.

"Where are you going?” Stiles asked.

"To the bathroom. Jeeze.”

Scott left and Allison and Stiles remained in slightly awkward silence for a moment.

"Stiles,” she said.

"Yeah?”

"You should stay away from Derek Hale.” She said it carefully, like she was testing Stiles’s reaction, but, at the same time, she sounded like she really meant it.

"What?” he asked.

"You should stay away from Derek,” she said again.

"Why?”

"He’s just trouble; trust me.”

"Is this about the fire and everything?” Stiles asked.

"No,” she said, just a little too quickly.

Stiles raised his eyebrows.

"What then?”

"He’s bad news. Just trust me on this one, Stiles. Stay away from Derek Hale.”

"Okay,” said Stiles uncertainly. He stood there for a moment. “Um, anyway, I’m gonna go to bed. Well, to homework. ‘Night.”

"Good-night.”

Stiles headed towards his room, frowning.

He was unlocking his door when he glanced down the hall and noticed a light coming from the lounge. He opened his door, dropped his bag, and went to investigate. He stuck his head in the door and found Isaac sitting in a chair, his back towards Stiles.

"It’s safe in your room, you know,” he said.

"I know,” Isaac replied, not looking around.

Stiles cocked his head to one side.

"You okay?” he asked.

"Fine.”

Stiles took a few uncertain steps into the room.

"I said I was fine,” Isaac snapped, causing Stiles to freeze in his tracks.

"Isaac?”

Isaac sighed and turned to glared at Stiles. His face was bruised and it looked like his lip had been split.

"Oh my god, what happened?”

"Nothing.”

"If that’s your idea of nothing, I’d hate to see something.”

"Just leave it, Stiles,” Isaac said, turning away.

"Um, alright,” he said uncertainly, starting back for the door. “But if you need anything, well, you know where I live.”

Stiles returned to his room where he proceeded not to sleep because he forgot about his homework for several hours in which he formulated a new theory about Derek.

* * *

 

After the “Stay away from Derek Hale” incident with Allison, Stiles abandoned any thoughts of sharing his “Actual Werewolf Derek Hale” theories with Scott. He was working on his most recent one as he sat in the student union during what just _happened_ to be Derek’s TA hours. Since it seemed like all standard werewolf lore was wrong, maybe there was some lesser-known mythology that was a little more accurate. He was reading about the mystical properties of mountain ash and aconite when he glanced up and saw that a very nervous-looking Isaac was approaching Derek. Derek stood up to speak to Isaac, looking concerned. They spoke in an undertone for a minute and then Derek pulled out a notebook, tore a page from it, and left a note on the table he’d been sitting at before following Isaac out of student union. Stiles frowned after them, but hoped that Derek would be able to help Isaac.

He turned back to his research. Aconite sounded like pretty serious business, but mountain ash seemed promising. The question was how to get it and then how to get Derek to try to cross it or whatever. He should probably try to collect more evidence. He pulled up a lunar calendar and found that the full moon was next week. He had zero desire to try to follow a werewolf on the full moon, but if Derek was dead tired the next day, that seemed like a promising clue. Unless the full moon refueled werewolves or something. Well, there was only one way to find out.

* * *

 

Stiles sat up listening for most of the night of the full moon and there was no denying the fact that he heard a wolf howling.

* * *

 

The next day, he looked everywhere for Derek and eventually found him sitting in the rat, staring at nothing and looking like the living dead.

"You okay?” Stiles asked.

"What?” asked Derek, clearly working to focus on Stiles.

"Are you alright?”

"Fine.”

"Late night?” he asked.

"Something like that.”

"Drinking?”

"I don’t drink.”

That was interesting. What kind of person whose entire family was murdered doesn’t drink? Maybe the kind who couldn’t get drunk because of his freaky werewolf metabolism.

"You look dog tired.” Stiles managed not to smirk at his own pun.

"Didn’t get any sleep last night,” said Derek, seemingly too tired to make Stiles leave him alone.

"I think I read somewhere that the full moon can mess with your sleep cycle. Maybe it was that.”

"What?” asked Derek, his voice suddenly much sharper.

Stiles shrugged and headed over to his own table.

Derek Hale was totally a werewolf. He just had to test the theory.

* * *

 

Finding mountain ash proved harder than expected, but that was what the internet was for and when the package arrived, Stiles was ready. He took a small piece of wood and headed out that evening to look for Derek. After about twenty minutes of wandering around campus, he spotted a lurking figure in the shadows. Stiles closed his hand around the mountain ash in his hoodie pocket and approached Derek.

“Hey,” he said.

“Stiles,” Derek acknowledged.

Stiles took a deep breath.

“I know what you are,” he said.

Derek stared at him and Stiles could have sworn that for a moment his eyes flashed that dazzling blue, but when he spoke his voice was off-hand and dismissive.

“What?”

“I know what you are,” Stiles repeated. God, if he was wrong, he was going to look like a _Twilight_ -level idiot.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I think you know.”

“I think you’re crazy.”

Stiles shrugged.

“Deny it all you want, but I know.”

“Go away, Stiles,” said Derek, turning his back on Stiles.

“Fine,” he said. He took a few steps away from Derek. “Oh, Derek?”

“What?” asked Derek, turning back to glare at Stiles.

“Catch.”

Stiles threw the piece of wood as hard as he could at Derek’s head, but Derek caught it with almost preternatural reflexes. But that wasn’t what was interesting. The moment his fingers closed around it, he let out a hiss of pain and dropped it, taking a quick step back.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, staring at his hand.

“Mountain ash,” said Stiles quietly.

Derek slowly raised his eyes to Stiles. They were wide and his face was very still.

“How—?” he whispered.

Stiles shrugged again.

“I know what it looks like to have a secret,” he said. “See you around, wolf boy.”

“Wait,” said Derek quickly.

Stiles was feeling way too smug to listen to anyone and kept walking until a blood-chilling sound made him stop dead in his tracks. He turned slowly to face Derek again.

Derek’s eyes were that blazing blue, but that was not the only change. His fingernails had become claws and his teeth were fangs. His ears were pointed and his usual sexy five o’clock shadow had become totally weird muttonchops. And he was snarling, a sound that stirred a deep, primal terror in Stiles.

“If you tell anyone, I will rip your throat out,” he rumbled. “With my teeth.”

Stiles managed to nod and, even through his terror, some part of his brain appreciated that, freaky facial hair aside, Derek threatening his life was pretty much the hottest thing ever.

Derek gave him a final glare before shifting back and stalking off into the night.

Stiles stood staring after him for a long moment before he was able to grab the little piece of wood and hurry back to his room.

Holy crap. He’d been right.

Actual Werewolf Derek Hale.


	6. Chapter 6

Scott and Allison were being disgusting. Stiles had had more than enough of them being all cute and lovey-dovey and fucking perfect for each other. It was getting really out of hand. And maybe that’s why he had said yes when Danny had knocked on his door and asked him if he wanted any of the booze he was going to buy with his fake ID.

“Um, sure, yeah.”

“What do you want?” Danny asked.

“Whiskey,” said Stiles without thinking. It was the first kind of alcohol that popped into his head.

“You got it.”

Danny had gone down the hall to make the same offer to Scott, Allison, Isaac, and whoever else he could find before it occurred to Stiles that he probably should have replied with a polite “No thank you.”

A little over an hour later, Stiles’s tumbling was interrupted again by a knock from Danny. He exchanged a twenty for a bottle and Danny went off to continue his job as hall liquor fairy.

Stiles opened the bottle and sniffed it tentatively. It smelled like some of his worst memories and he wished that he thought of something else to ask for. He sighed, but shrugged and took a sip from the bottle. It burned his throat and he coughed and spluttered, nearly choking.

It didn’t take him long to get accustomed to the burn and even start to enjoy it.

Fucking Scott and Allison. It was so unfair. Stiles loved Scott. He really did. Scott had been his best friend since forever and through everything. But now Scott had Allison. Just like Scott had always been just that little bit more popular. Just like Scott had been better at lacrosse. Just like Scott had a mom. Scott was great, but in that moment Stiles could almost hate him.

Stiles wanted to be good at things. Stiles wanted to be able to focus on something for more than five minutes without having to drug himself. Stiles wanted to look like a proper guy without having to ram a needle into his leg every two weeks. Stiles wanted people to see him for who and what he really was. Stiles wanted someone to love him and hold him and kiss him and touch him. Expect that someone touching him would probably be the worst.

Stiles took another drink of whiskey.

“Stiles?”

Scott pushed the door open and looked at Stiles, sitting on his bed with his laptop and bottle.

“We’re gonna go check out this party. You wanna come?”

Stiles thought about the offer for a moment. It would probably be awkward at best, but more likely it would be straight up painful.

“A bunch of people are coming,” Allison said. “Jackson and Lydia and Danny are all there already. Come on; it’ll be fun.”

Stiles sighed. Maybe he could find someone drunk enough to be willing to kiss him. It seemed unlikely, but he put on his shoes and hoodie, took a last swallow of whiskey, and followed Scott, Allison, and Isaac across campus, stumbling a little, but mostly not falling down.

The party was in one of the frat houses on the edge of campus. Stiles had never been in one before, having no interest in joining either a frat or a party and yet here he was.

“Don’t drink anything in there,” Scott told him, sternly.

“I know,” Stiles slurred.

“Especially not punch.”

“I _know_.”

“Let’s go,” said Allison, tugging Scott’s hand.

They went into the house, their eardrums assaulted by almost deafening wub. To the right, there was what was probably a living room. The music seemed to be coming from there and it was filled with people who were “dancing” (i.e. jumping up and down, waving their arms around, and having the clothed equivalent of upright sex). To the left was a kitchen/dining room or something where there was more beer than Stiles ever wanted to encounter again in his life. This room was, however, quieter (except when some idiots starting trying to do keg stands), and he spotted Lydia’s red hair. So while Scott and Allison went to dance and Isaac wandered off into the crowd muttering something about finding Danny, Stiles stumbled over towards Lydia.

“Hey,” he said, grinning sloppily at her.

“Hi, Stiles. How are you? You know, other than totally wasted.”

“I am totally wasted,” Stiles declared.

“Yeah, I got that one.”

Jackson came up behind Lydia, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh,” said Stiles, glaring at him. “It’s you.”

“Yeah,” said Jackson, somehow making the word sound like a challenge.

“Yeah,” Stiles echoed, taking a step closer to Jackson and standing as tall as he could, which wasn’t very tall, but he was trying.

“Fuck off, Stilinski,” Jackson said without much care, taking Lydia’s hand and starting to pull her away.

Lydia, however, shook him off and folded her arms.

“Why don’t you make me?” Stiles spat at him, anger suddenly coursing through his body. He’d had enough of Jackson’s bullshit and wasn’t about to take any more of it.

“Oh, I would, but, you see, I don’t hit girls,” Jackson replied.

Stiles’s eyes went huge and he took a step back, feeling like Jackson had gone ahead and hit him anyway. He didn’t know what to say or do and the alcohol singing in his blood told him that his options were to either punch Jackson or start crying and neither of those sounded like good plans. He opened his mouth to say something without knowing what.

“Is there a problem here?” demanded a low, rough voice.

Jackson and Stiles looked around to see Derek Hale glaring at them. Stiles stared at Derek, whom he hadn’t seen since he’d confronted him with the mountain ash.

“Who are you, the party police?” Jackson demanded.

“Are you trying to start a fight?” Derek asked, taking a step towards Jackson.

“Jackson, come on,” said Lydia. “Leave him alone. Stop being such an ass.”

“I’m just telling it like it is.”

“No,” she said. “You’re being a douche. Let’s go.”

Jackson glared around at everyone for a moment before realizing that neither Lydia nor Derek was going to back down.

“Fine,” he huffed, taking Lydia’s hand and throwing a filthy look at Derek. “Have fun with your girlfriend.”

“Jackson,” Lydia snapped, starting to drag him away. “I swear to god if you do that again I will dump you.”

Next thing anyone knew, Derek had stepped in front of Jackson, blocking his way. He spoke in a low, dangerous voice that Stiles could barely hear over the music.

“If you ever try to out someone like that again, I will find you,” he snarled in that way that made Stiles’s blood freeze and his heart burn. “And no one else ever will.”

Derek held Jackson’s gaze for a long moment before Jackson dropped his eyes and hurried around Derek, dragging Lydia with him. Stiles stared at Derek and Derek gave him the barest hint of a smile once he’d glared Jackson out of sight.

“Wow,” Stiles breathed. “That was—.” He managed to stop himself from saying “really fucking hot,” but it was a close thing. “Thanks,” he mumbled instead.

Derek shrugged, starting to turn away.

“So,” said Stiles, sweeping his eyes up and down Derek’s form, desperately trying to think of something to say to keep that body in his line of vision. “Is shutting people down like that a you think or a werewolf thing?”

“Shut up,” Derek muttered.

“Or are werewolves just super-protective? Were you being protective of me?” Stiles certainly liked that idea and he was drunk enough to think it just might be true.

“I said shut up.”

“Is it like a pack thing? Do werewolves have packs?”

“Stiles, if you say that word again—,” Darek snarled.

“What word?” Stiles asked teasingly. Now that Jackson was gone, he suddenly felt strangely confident. Part of him knew it was just the whiskey, but a larger part of him didn’t give a damn. “Werewolf?”

“I rip your neck open,” Derek finished.

Stiles lean in towards Derek, speaking in an undertone that his alcohol infused brain told him was sexy.

“I can think of better things you could do to my neck.”

Derek huffed out an annoyed breath.

“Don’t be such a sourwolf,” Stiles said, swaying a little as he leaned even closer to Derek.

“You’re drunk, Stiles,” said Derek, the barest hint of what might have been regret in his voice.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want,” Stiles replied. “Come on, wolf boy, make me be quiet. Big bad wolf like you taking crap from a little boy like me?” He poked Derek in the chest. “You are a disgrace to the family lupus. Go on, shut me up. Werewolf.”

“Fine,” Derek growled.

Stiles had gotten so close to him that is it was easy for Derek to grab him in a single motion and close the gap between them.

The kiss was hot and rough and wet. Stiles could feel Derek’s stubble on his face and he couldn’t think much past the sensory input. He stumbled back a few paces when Derek released him, his head reeling.

“You okay?” asked Derek in sudden concern, grabbing Stiles’s arm to keep him from careening drunkenly into someone.

“I’m _awesome_. And I totally get it now.” He grinned sloppily at Derek.

“Get what?” he asked.

“Kissing.”

“Was that—?”

Stiles made a face, but nodded.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But that’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“Come dance with me,” said Stiles, tugging on Derek’s arm.

“That’s not a point,” Derek muttered, but he allowed himself to be led into the living room of the frat house.

Stiles had no idea what he was doing. It was hot in the crowded room and his binder was sticking unpleasantly to his skin, but he slipped into an empty space, pulling Derek along with him. The throng of dancing students pressed them towards one another and Stiles glanced at other couples near by to get an idea of what to do next.

Everyone around them seemed to be halfway to fucking and, while that sounded awesome in a way, he wasn’t so drunk that Derek had completely ceased to intimidate him. Still, the crowd was pressing their bodies even closer together and Derek’s perfect mouth was right there. He nervously slid his arms around Derek’s neck and, to his surprise, Derek’s hands found their way to his hips. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was dancing or just being buffeted by the crowd. Or maybe Derek was moving him.

Stiles couldn’t focus. It was about a million degrees and Derek absurdly was close to him, his head bowed so his nose was inches from Stiles’s. Stiles felt sure that if he moved his head just a little, he’d be kissing Derek again and, god, he wanted that. He could feel Derek’s breath on his skin – hot and wet and so seductive that it made him feel weak even as he burned with want.

Derek moved his head and for a glorious movement Stiles thought he was going to kiss him again, but Derek’s lips bypassed his and instead brushed his ear as Derek whispered in a low voice as dark as unplumbed waters and with that same promise of danger.

“You know, a side-effect of being a werewolf is that I can smell your want,” he murmured, his breath filling Stiles’s ear and making him shudder. “Everyone in here reeks of sex and booze, you included, little red.” Derek pulled away just enough that Stiles could see his wickedly pleased smirk as he ran his hands over his red hoodie.

“You’re a complete bastard, you know that?” Stiles panted, somehow sure Derek could hear him even over the ridiculously loud music.

“Yeah, I know,” Derek replied, sounding horribly pleased with himself.

“You should make it up to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Derek’s smirk grew by a fraction and he inclined his head towards Stiles again. The moment Derek’s lips brushed his, Stiles couldn’t keep himself from hauling Derek down by the back of the neck, drawing him deep into the kiss. Maybe it was just the alcohol, but, despite his usually frazzled mind, Stiles had no trouble keeping his body moving to the beat of the music while matching Derek’s kisses and hot breathes.

He lost track of time. The music all sounded the same so he had no idea how many songs they had danced away. When it occurred to him to think about it again, he realized he felt terribly over-heated and a little nauseous. It was getting hard to breathe, his chest straining against heat and Derek and tight fabric. But it didn’t matter. Did it? Derek would catch him if he fainted.

Maybe he was looking a little weak because when Derek pulled away to let him breathe, there was something like concern in his dark eyes.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said in Stiles’s ear.

Stiles nodded, pretty sure he knew what that meant.

Derek’s hand found his and he extracted them from the crowd of dancing students. Stiles glanced around, vaguely looking for any of his friends, but he didn’t see them and he figured they’d be alright without him for the single night.

Derek led him out of the house and across the dark, chill campus. Stiles quickly lost track of where they were. He was suddenly exhausted and could barely keep his eyes open much less track his own location. He was pretty sure Derek lived in the on-campus apartments so maybe that was where they were going.

And he knew what that meant.

Stiles wanted to have sex with Derek. He totally did. Expect that, no, he didn’t. He really, really didn’t. It was an odd thought, not wanting to sleep with Derek freaking Hale, but he knew it was true. Though if Derek asked him, would he say no? Probably not.

When they stopped outside a familiar-looking door, Derek reached for him.

“Wha—?” he started to object, but Derek just tugged his wallet from his back pocket and swiped them into the building.

Stiles was suddenly faced with stairs.

Derek glanced at Stiles as he wavered at the bottom of the flight he was pretty sure had been built in hell and would reach heaven if he could figure out how to use it.

“You gonna make it?” Derek asked. “Need me to—?”

“I can do it,” Stiles slurred stubbornly.

Between the railing and Derek’s arm around his waist, Stiles made it up the stairs. Eventually, they went down a hall and Stiles found himself facing another familiar door.

Derek tugged Stiles’s keys from his pocket, unlocked the door, and opened it.

Stiles found himself face to face with his own dorm room.

Derek poked him inside and found his pajamas thrown over his desk chair.

“Change,” he ordered, holding them out. “Drink some water. Got to sleep.”

“But this is my room. I thought we were going to—?” He frowned at Derek, swaying a little even as he took the buddle of soft fabric from him.

Derek stared at him, looking almost hurt.

“Stiles,” he said. “You’re wasted. Did you really think I’d do that to you?”

Stiles shrugged and Derek signed.

“Just go to bed,” he told him.

“But—?”

“Here,” Derek said, grabbing the nearest writing implement off Stiles’s desk. He gently took Stiles’s arm, pushed up his sleeve, and wrote ten digits on his pale skin in black sharpie. “Now sleep.”

Stiles nodded, sparing his arm a confused glace before starting to sort out his pajamas. Derek backed out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact about this chapter: I wrote a lot of it while running sound for a play.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles must have gotten his pajamas figured out in the end because he woke up curled under his blankets and dressed in his sweatpants and t-shirt.

What had woken him turned out to be Scott knocking on the door.

“Stiles?”

Stiles made an “I just woke up” noise in the back of his throat and Scott pushed the door open. Stiles tugged his comforter self-consciously over his chest as Scott closed the door.

“You okay, man?”

“Not really,” said Stiles slowly. “My head feels like death and I think I made out with Derek Hale last night? Did that really happen?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Scott said, smirking a little. “When I got back, there was a note on my whiteboard from him saying to make sure you were alright.”

“Really?”

"Yeah.” Scott came and set on the edge of Stiles’s bed. “So. How are doing?”

"I’m not sure I’m gonna make it,” Stiles groaned.

"I’ll get you some water and painkiller and then you should eat something greasy. The rat closes in half an hour so you need to get up.” He poked Stiles in the side, eliciting an annoyed sound from his friend. “Come on, Stiles, you need food.”

"Go away,” he said, rolling over to face the wall.           

"I’ll go away and come back with water and you’ll put your pants on and then we’ll go eat,” Scott told him, getting to his feet.

Stiles grunted into his pillow.

"Stiles,” said Scott, sounding alarmingly like his own mother.

"Okay, okay,” Stiles moaned.

Scott flashed him a grin and went to get some water and painkillers.

Stiles slowly forced himself upright and out of bed and, after a minor struggle, he was standing on his own two feet and only leaning on the bed a little. He found his jeans in a crumpled heap on the floor and changed into them. He then located a baggy t-shirt and fished his binder out of the twisted mess of the shirt he’d been wearing the night before. He was a little bit proud of himself for having had the presence of mind to take it off. Sleeping in the stupid thing would not have been good for him at all.

He glared at the fabric, feeling far too shitty to want to put it on. At last he gave up trying to force himself and found an old sports bra behind his socks. He put it on, quickly adding the t-shirt, a flannel, and a hoodie to try to hide his shape. He peered into the mirror to see how it had worked (not great, but well enough for seriously hung-over breakfast) and noticed something rather odd. There were several dark smears on his face, like ink had rubbed off from somewhere. After a little searching, he found the ten numbers written on his arm. Derek’s phone number.

Stiles stared at the number and then shook his head.

"Talk about marking your territory,” he muttered.

* * *

 

Breakfast wasn’t fun. Neither was the rest of that day, if Stiles was honest. After dinner, he felt more or less like a human again and sat in a corner of his hall lounge, almost following the flow of the conversation. Scott, Danny, and Isaac were engaged in a heated debate about something to do with athletics while Jackson rolled his eyes and looked superior.  Lydia and Allison were watching them fondly and making quietly snide comments to each other. Boyd and Erica sat off to one side alternately doing chem problems and kissing.

Stiles watched it all from his corner where he sat with laptop, half-heartedly scrolling through endless pages of tumblr and trying not to focus too much on attempting to patch together his memories from the night before. It wasn’t late, but he was tired and he yawned, stretching his arms over his head before settling back down again.

“Stiles,” said Lydia, a little sharply.

“Hm?” he asked.

“What’s on your arm?”

“Nothing,” he said at once, tugging down his sleeve.

Lydia was, as always, too quick for him and had his wrist in her gasp before he could even begin to try to stop her. She dragged his sleeve up despite his protests and exclaimed in triumph.

“Ah-ha! That is a phone number if I ever saw one,” she declared.

Stiles huffed and pulled his arm back, smoothing his sleeve down once more.

“ _So_ ,” she said. “Whose number is it?”

“Derek Hale’s,” Stiles mumbled, almost inaudibly.

“Derek Hale?” asked Allison, her head whipping around and her voice almost alarmingly sharp.

“Yeah,” Stiles admitted.

“Wait,” said Erica, surfacing from a kiss with Boyd. “What about Derek Hale?”

“Stiles has his number written on his arm,” Lydia announced.

“Lydia!” Stiles protested, but of course it was too late.

Everyone was starting at Stiles, faces interested and expectant. All expect Allison, who looked wary.

“I was really drunk,” he said, not looking at anyone and praying he sounded off-hand.

“Derek Hale wrote his number on your arm,” Jackson said, disbelievingly. 

“Yeah.”

“Like in a “call me” sort of way?”

“What other way is there to write your number on someone’s arm?” Stiles asked.

Jackson frowned at Stiles like he was trying to see something that he hadn’t seen there before, but he just shook his head, apparently giving up.

“So have you called him?” asked Lydia, settling herself forward into Stiles’s personal space.

“No.”

“Why not?” she demanded.

Stiles shrugged.

“You’ve at least texted him.”

Stiles shook his head.

“Stiles!”

“He doesn’t want to seem needy,” Erica said. “Playing hard to get is good.”

“Yeah, but not with Derek freaking Hale,” Danny argued. “He’s already got the hard to get market cornered.”

“So you think he should just go for it?” asked Lydia, turning to her usual ally in these matters.

“Definitely,” Danny said.

Erica, apparently giving in to their point of view, checked the time on her phone quickly.

“He should text Derek now. It’s still pretty early for a Saturday.”

“Text or call?” Lydia asked.

“Text,” said Danny at once.

Erica nodded.

Boyd, Jackson, Isaac, and Scott exchanged confused looks. Allison was sitting very still, looking oddly like she wanted to intervene, but didn’t know how.

“Well?” Lydia prompted.

“What?” asked Stiles, trying to squirm away from her.

“Text him.”

“No,” said Stiles at once, voice almost breaking.

She glared at him and it was surprisingly intimidating.

“What would I even say? Thanks for last night?” He made a face.

“Did you sleep with him?” Danny asked.

“No!”

“Okay so then maybe, “Hey I had a good time last night. We should hang out sometime” or something.”

Erica shook her head.

“Too off-hand.”

“Stiles is a causal guy. It should sound like him,” Danny pointed out.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stiles asked.

“He should just cut to the chase and ask him out,” Erica said.

“Whoa. Who said I wanted to ask him out?”

“What happened to playing hard to get?” teased Lydia, totally ignoring Stiles.

“Danny’s right. Not the best tactic with Derek.”

“But I don’t think straight up “go out with me” is right either,” Danny said. “Derek’s so withdrawn, he’d probably just shut down.”

“What about “What are you doing on Sunday?”” Lydia suggested.

“Maybe,” said Erica. “But not as an opening line.”

“Guys, can you just drop it?” asked Stiles.

"So how should he start?”

"Mentioning last night isn’t bad.”

"I dunno,” said Danny. “It’s pretty cliché.”

"So?”

"Guys, _please_ ,” Stiles tried again.

"This is so ridiculous,” Jackson muttered.

"Alright what if—?”

Stiles stopped listening.

"Okay, I’ve got it,” Lydia declared, several minutes later. “Stiles. Phone.” She held out her hand.

"I texted him like five minutes ago,” Stiles muttered.

"Oh,” she said, looking more than a little crestfallen. “What did you say?”

"Um,” Stiles said, reopening the message and reading from it. “You wrote your number on my arm. I don’t really remember you doing it, but do you want to get coffee sometime?””

"Seriously?”

"Yeah.” Stiles shifted awkwardly. “He said yes. We’re meeting tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh.” She looked between Erica and Danny. “Alright then,” she said, brightening. “You’ll have to tell us how it goes.”

“Sure,” Stiles said half-heartedly. “I’m tired and I’ve got a lot of work to get done tomorrow. I’m gonna turn in.”

Stiles retreated to his room, trying not to feel too weird about the fact that his friends’ interest in his life had taken a sudden and large upswing at the addition of Derek Hale.


	8. Chapter 8

Even after his shower, Derek’s number was still perfectly visible on Stiles’s arm the next day. It was warm in the student center café, but Stiles kept his red hoodie on rather than let Derek (or anyone else) see that the number was still there. Stiles fidgeted with his cup while he waited, trying his best not to glance at his phone every thirty seconds and generally failing. At last, he spotted Derek coming towards him. He waved at once, realized it probably looked awkward and over-enthusiastic, and stopped. Derek’s lips twitched in the shadow of a smile. He went up to the counter, bought a coffee, and them came to sit at the table with Stiles.

“Hey,” said Stiles.

“Hey,” Derek replied.

They sat in awkward silence for a moment.

“So how are you doing?” Derek asked.

“In general or after the other night?”

“Either.”

“Pretty good, all things considered.”

“You must have been hung over.”

“Yeah,” Stiles admitted, glancing down at his cup.

“Did that asshole whatshisname give you any more trouble?”

“Jackson? No.” Stiles shifted slightly uncomfortably in his seat. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“No problem.”

Stiles cast around for a topic that wasn’t his gender.

“Um, so you’re studying to be a cop?”

“That’s the long-term plan.”

“Because of your family?” Stiles asked without thinking. “Oh shit,” he said at once, clapping a hand to his mouth. “I’m so sorry. Shit.”

“It’s fine. It’s been a while. And yes, partially.”

“What’s the other reason?”

“It’s a lot easier to cover things up from the inside.”

Stiles’s eyes went huge.

Derek rolled his eyes.

“I meant the whole werewolf thing,” he muttered. “Jesus, what did you think I was talking about?”

“I dunno. Killing people?”

“I don’t kill people, Stiles. But there are hunters and people end up dead sometimes.”

“Hunters?” Stiles asked. “Like werewolf hunters?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles licked his lips, thinking hard.

“What?” asked Derek.

“Did hunters—? You know.”

“Kill my family?” Derek supplied. “Yeah.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathed.

“What?” Derek repeated, frowning.

“I think she knows,” he said, eyes wide again.

“Who knows?”

“Allison.”

“Allison?”

Stiles looked at Derek.

“Allison Argent.”

Derek froze.

“How the hell do you know them?” he asked, his voice barely making it above a whisper.

“Allison goes here.”

Derek moved as if about to get up, but Stiles grabbed his arm.

“You can’t kill her,” he hissed.

“I’m not going to kill her. Christ, Stiles. I’m going to make sure she doesn’t kill me.”

“Don’t,” Stiles said, still holding Derek’s wrist. “She’ll know I told you. Just stay away from her. It’ll be better for everyone. I don’t think she’s going to kill you. She doesn’t seem to get along with her family very well.”

Derek still looked very tense, but dropped back into his seat.

Stiles sighed.

“So much for that date, huh?” he muttered.

Derek stared at him for a moment and then, to Stiles’s great surprise, managed a tired smile.

 “Is there anything else?” he asked.

“Um. I mean, Allison overheard me telling Scott about the fire. They’re dating.”

“Scott’s your friend?”

“Yeah, we’ve known each other forever.”

“So you see her a lot?”

Stiles nodded.

Derek pressed his lips together.

“What?”

“Just be careful,” Derek told him. “What else happened?”

“She heard him telling him and looked freaked out so I asked her and she admitted that Kate was her aunt.”

Derek flinched at the sound of the name, but made no comment.

“She told us that Kate never denied that she’d— killed your family once she was caught, but that she wouldn’t say why she did it.”

Derek nodded.

“Allison said she went to visit her in prison and that Kate told her that she had to kill them because they were werewolves.”

“Allison just told you that?”

“Well, she said that Kate had gone crazy. I guess it’s that thing of keeping lies as close to the truth as possible.”

“But it’s how you figured out about me?”

“Partly.”

Derek nodded.

“Do you know if she’s trained?”

“As a hunter?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know,” said Stiles. “She’s pretty ripped for someone who doesn’t do sports and I know she used to do archery.”

“I need to go. I should call my sister.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes.

“I promise no one is going to try to kill anyone else. I won’t even go near Allison if I can help it. But right now I just need—.”

Stiles nodded.

Derek got to his feet, running a hand through his hair.

“Sorry about this, Stiles, but thanks for telling me.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Stiles shrugged, inwardly berating himself for being such an idiot.

Derek gave Stiles a tight smile and started walking away. After a few paces, however, he stopped and looked back.

“What are you doing Tuesday night?”

“Um, nothing? Homework, I guess.”

“You want to get dinner? Get off campus?”

“With you?” Stiles asked.

“No, with Allison. Yeah, with me.”

“Like a—?”

“Yes, Stiles, I am asking you on a date.”

“Oh. Um. Yeah. I’d like that,” said Stiles, sure he was blushing as red as his hoodie.

“Cool. I’ll meet you in front of the library at six?”

“Sounds good.”

Stiles watched Derek until he was out of sight and then punched the air in triumph. The people at the tables near him gave him pointed looks, but Stiles didn’t care. He was going on a date with actual werewolf Derek freaking Hale.

* * *

Stiles was never exactly sure how it happened, but several weeks later he was on the phone with his dad answering “yes” to a question he never thought he’d be able to give that answer to.

"So you are you seeing anyone?” his dad had asked, almost teasing.

"Actually, sorta,” Stiles had replied, smiling a little at his answer as he realized it was true.

"Oh?”

"Yeah. His name’s Derek Hale. He’s a junior, but I swear it’s not sketchy.” Stiles could feel his stomach squirming as he waited for his dad to answer.

"I didn’t realize you were—.”

"Still into guys?” Stiles supplied. “Yeah, sometimes.”

"Is he nice?”

"Yeah, sort of.”

"Sort of? I don’t know if I can approve of this guy. Does Scott like him?”

"It’s not that Derek isn't nice,” Stiles explained. “He’s just tough to get to know. He interacts with people differently. He’s been through a lot of shit.”

"Derek _Hale_ , you said?”

"Yeah.”

"Not Hale as in the fire that killed that whole family?”

"Yeah.”

"Christ.”

"He’s really great, though,” said Stiles. “We just sort of click, you know?”

"Yeah.”

His dad didn’t press him for more information, which Stiles was grateful for. He didn’t know how to explain Derek or their relationship. They weren’t facebook official or anything, but they did seem to be pretty solidly dating. They ate together fairly often and Derek hung out in his room more and more frequently. Derek stayed away from Stiles’s friends for the most part because of Allison and Stiles had yet to meet any of Derek’s friends aside from seeing a few in passing.  After their first drunken night, Derek had become much more cautious about being physical with Stiles. They kissed, though never in public that Stiles could remember, and sometimes they’d make out in his room, but really only if Stiles started it.

Still, Stiles was certainly not complaining. Despite his standoffishness and his lurking and brooding, Derek was much, much more than just a pretty face. He saw Stiles for what he was and, more importantly, he seemed to really like what he saw. Stiles felt safe with him and not just because Derek could beat the crap out of anyone on campus. For some unfathomable reason, Derek genuinely liked him and Stiles liked him back.

It’s remarkable when these things work out.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning, there is a needle in this chapter.

It wasn’t unusual that Derek and Stiles could be found hanging out in Stiles’s room on a given evening, the door closed to keep out noise. They worked side by side on Stiles’s bed, Derek taking notes on some kind of law-related reading and Stiles trying to force his way through Russian literature. After getting almost nowhere for nearly an hour, he tossed his book into a pile of laundry with an annoyed huff.

"Had enough of that?” Derek asked without looking up.

"More than,” said Stiles emphatically.

He leaned against Derek’s side, trying to get his attention.

“I take it I’m done working,” Derek said.

“I wouldn’t want to tear you from your studies,” said Stiles in a long-suffering tone.

“You’re such a liar,” Derek muttered, closing his textbook over his notes and pencil and dropping them to the floor with a loud _thunk_.

Stiles jumped at the sound and Derek laughed low in his throat.

“Nervous?” Derek teased. “You seem a little jumpy.”

Stiles stuck his tongue out at him and turned away in mock sulking, arms folded petulantly.

“Stiles.”

“No.”

“Yeah right.”

Derek took Stiles’s arm and gently turned him back around. Stiles found himself face to face with Derek, their noses just inches apart. It was pretty surreal, he thought, sitting there alone in his dorm room with the hands-down best looking guy on campus who just happened to be a werewolf and had threatened Stiles’s life once. It was also strange that most of the time he didn’t think about the fact that Derek was a werewolf and he wondered if Derek didn’t think about the fact that he was trans.

“Stiles?”

“Huh?”

“You were zoning out on me,” Derek said, amused.

“Sorry.”

Derek smiled, just a little, and kissed Stiles.

It was gentle at first, Derek clearly testing that day’s waters and Stiles trying to remember what to do with his hands and how much to tilt his head. But they soon found their footing together and Stiles wasn’t really sure when he ended up on his back with one of Derek’s knees between his legs. Everything ran together and it was like losing time when Derek kissed him that way, long and deep and needy, and Stiles could suddenly sense the predator in Derek.

He could feel Derek’s hot fingers on the skin of his waist and he realized his binder had ridden up, bunching around his ribs, but he didn’t care. Derek’s fingers felt good pressing into his body, strong and possessive and a little sharp. Derek pulled away from Stiles and Stiles tried to sit up and follow him, but then Derek’s mouth was on his neck and he was lost to sensation. A minute later, however, his gasp was one of pain and he twisted away from Derek, who, for a moment, tried to hold him down, his hand still tight on Stiles’s wait.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped.

Derek seemed to come to himself and he quickly pulled away from Stiles.

“I’m sorry,” he said at once. “Did I—?” He reached out towards the dark bruises already forming on Stiles’s neck.

Stiles shook his head and pushed himself up to look at his side just above his left hip. Five bruises stood out against pale skin, each holding a single dot of blood.

Derek’s eyes went huge and he scrambled off the bed, backing away from Stiles with a look Stiles had never seen on him before. He was scared, really scared. He shook his head slowly, glancing down at his right hand.

Stiles gently touched the marks, his hand too small to cover them all at once.

“Derek?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I—. I didn’t even realize I was doing it.”

He looked like he was about to bolt for the door.

“Hey,” said Stiles. “It’s okay.”

“No. It’s not.”

“I’m fine.”

Derek shook his head again.

“I could have _turned_ you doing that. Or _killed_ you.” He looked away from Stiles. “This isn’t safe. I should just go.”

“No,” said Stiles quickly. He grabbed a tissue from his bedside and hastily wiped away the small drops of blood before dropping his shirt and going to Derek. “I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me.”

“Yes, I did,” said Derek, taking a few steps back so he was almost pinned against the door.

“Okay, yeah, you did,” Stiles admitted. “But I’m fine. It’ll be a little embarrassing tomorrow, but I can wear a scarf or something.”

Derek still looked far from convinced.

Stiles licked his lips and sighed.

“Look, we’re both a little messed up, but that’s okay, right?”

“It’s not okay if I hurt you.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Stiles insisted.

“But I—. I’m—.” Derek ran a hand through his hair. “I was born like this. I’m not even human, Stiles.”

“Your body does weird shit sometimes that you can’t control. So does mine.”

“You’re not going to kill someone you care about because you can’t control yourself.”

Stiles got a little distracted by the fact that Derek officially cared about him, but he filed the information away for later.

“Everyone’s in danger somehow. Ever hear of hate crimes?” He looked away for a moment. “Derek, listen, please. I’m not scared.”

“You should be.”

“Oh come on, what is this, _Twilight_?” he demanded going back to sit on his bed again. “I know you’ll be more careful now so just come back here or I’ll think you don’t like me.”

Derek stared at him for a long moment and then, with a slight sigh, came at sat cautiously on the bed next to Stiles.

“Good boy.”

Derek huffed out an annoyed breath and rolled his eyes. Stiles smiled a little.

“See?” he said. “Not too bad, huh?”

Derek didn’t answer.

“It’ll be okay,” Stiles assured him.

“It’s just—,” Derek began after a moment. “I’ve never really done the whole relationship thing before. Not properly, anyway.”

A look flickered across his face that suggested to Stiles that something had happened to Derek, something far beyond a bad breakup. He wanted to ask what, but now didn’t seem the time to press him. He laid a hand on Derek’s leg and Derek only flinched a little and Stiles was able to give his leg a gentle squeeze.

“Hey, you were my first freaking kiss.”

“I know, but—. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” said Stiles, seeing that the sudden honesty Derek was giving him meant it was no time to tease. “But what life without a little risk?”

“But you’re risking a lot more than heartbreak with me. If I actually _bit_ you or even just got my claws in you too far, I could turn you.”

“So I’d be a werewolf too?” asked Stiles.

“Yeah. Or you’d die.” Derek stared down at his hands. “Sometimes a body will reject the bite. It’s like an infection. Either you get better and stronger or you die.”

“So don’t do that,” Stiles said, a slight laugh on the edge of his voice, somewhere between amusement and hysteria.

“And if I lose control? There’s more than just a chance that I could. I really could kill you, Stiles.”

“But if you don’t have the chance to hurt me, you don’t have the chance to do anything at all. Everything’s risky; that’s life. If you don’t take chances, what’s the point?”

Derek was silent for a long moment.

“I guess you’re right,” he conceded at last.

Stiles smiled at him for a moment, then leaned in for a quick kiss.

“Stiles,” Derek sighed.

“What?”

Derek just shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought. Now come ’er.”

Derek was much more cautious this time around, his hands just barely brushing against Stiles’s t-shirt as they kissed, his lips hesitant and careful in contrast to Stiles’s energy and need. (Distraction was, in his opinion, the best way to fix a lot of problems.) It took time, but eventually Derek was pressing up against him again and Stiles had nowhere to go but backwards and he found himself supine once more.

Derek’s hand hovered around the bottom of his ribcage, touching and then jerking away again like a flighty bird. He was clearly afraid of hitting the bruises he’d left, but also didn’t want to move any higher. Stiles wanted to grab Derek’s hand and plant it firmly on his side and was about to do it when the door opened.

“Stiles, are you—?” began Scott’s voice. “Oh my fucking God.”

Derek sprang away from Stiles so violently that he nearly rolled straight off the bed. Stiles scrambled to sit upright, painfully aware of the fact that there was no way in hell that he didn’t have monster bruises on his neck.

Scott was silent for a horribly long moment, in which he stood in the doorway just staring at them as a flush crept up his face.

“I’m just gonna go to dinner,” he muttered and slunk back out into the hall.

Derek and Stiles looked at each other.

“You should probably go eat something,” Derek said.

“Yeah. Probably.”

* * *

Dinner was not fun. Stiles’s friends were very interested in his neck and not very interested in the rest of him.

* * *

Stiles sat alone in his room the day after Thanksgiving. Scott and he had ended up staying at school over break, but most of their friends had gone. Derek had gone too, heading off in the Camero (which Stiles secretly called the car of sex and totally didn’t have a huge number of fantasies about, no of course not) to spend the holiday with his sister. Stiles and Scott had gone out for Chinese food the day before with the handful of people they knew who were still on campus, including Allison, but thankfully not Jackson. Now Stiles was alone, trying not to think about the fact that Allison was in Scott’s room with him. He supposed he could have found someone to hang out with, but he felt too lethargic to bother.

He glanced at the _Lord of the Rings_ calendar pinned above his desk. He knew the day’s date was circled in blue, but he had to check, just to be sure. The circle scrawled in blue sharpie was, indeed, still there. He sighed, got to his feet, and took the small box out from underneath his desk, where he figured it wouldn’t get too hot or too cold. He set it on his desk and opened it carefully. He was glad he was doing this, but, god, did he hate it.

He got everything he needed out of the box laid in on the desk before grabbing his biohazard box from behind the trashcan and setting it within easy reach. He checked the expiration date on the bottle, even though he knew it was fine, but better safe than sorry, right? He took his jeans off and used several pads to sterilize everything that possibly might need sterilizing, including the top of the bottle, his thigh, and his hands. He carefully opened the sterile packaging and set about getting the syringe ready. Eventually, he had the testosterone in the syringe and the needle ready to go. His hands hadn’t shook nearly as badly as they had the first time, but he was still nervous about the whole process. He found the right spot on his leg, halfway between his knee and hip and whipped it off with a sterilizing pad one more time just to be safe.

Stiles proceeded to sit in his awkwardly low desk chair in his underwear and have a staring contest with the needle. After seven minutes, it become clear that the needle was going to win, Stiles sighed, put the cap over the needle, and set it back down on the wrapper the syringe had come in. He tugged his bathrobe on over his shirt and went into the hall. He passed locked doors of empty rooms until he came to the one other door on the hall with light coming through around the edges. He knocked.

“Scott?”

“Um. Hang on.” There was brief moment of sound from inside the room. “Come in.”

Stiles pushed open the door to find Scott and Allison sitting on Scott’s bed, carefully not touching. Her hair was a mess and they were both a little flushed.

“Sorry,” said Stiles at once. “I can wait.”

“No,” said Scott, frowning at his friend. “What’s up?”

“I was just trying to do something and I was hoping you could maybe help me?”

Scott cocked his head to one side, confused. Stiles unfolded his arms and tapped a finger against his leg. Scott’s eyes widened slightly with understanding.

“Yeah, no problem,” he said, sliding off the bed.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he told Allison.

Stiles led Scott back down the hall to his room where he closed the door before shedding the bathrobe and picking up the needle again.

“What can I do?” Scott asked.

“Just talk to me? Like last time.”

“Okay.”

Scott settled on Stiles’s bed and Stiles sat back down in the chair, rechecking that everything was in order and sterile.

“So, um,” Scott began, casting around for something to say. “Allison started making me watch _Firefly_ last night.”

“What?” demanded Stiles, glancing up from trying to find the right spot on his leg to glare at Scott. “I’ve been on you to watch _Firefly_ for years and you wouldn’t listen.”

“Well, Allison literally sat on me and made me watch the first episode, which is long. It’s really long.”

“I know. It’s also really good.”

Scott shook his head.

“Keep talking, please,” Stiles prompted, squeezing his muscle with one hand and trying to position the needle with the other.

“Right. Sorry. Um. Danny texted me the yesterday. He probably texted you too. It looked like a mass “Happy Thanksgiving” text, but I know your phone’s been acting up lately. Anyway, I ended up talking to him about how things were going back home. Apparently like everyone in his family is being a total asshole to him. He was pretty much in the closet all through high school, at least to his family, which was obviously really hard on him, but then he got to college and basically said, “Fuck it.” He figures his family’s known for ages and just haven’t wanted to face it. So not the best Thanksgiving ever. I think he’ll be a lot more thankful to be back here away from them. I mean, they didn’t try to kick him out of the family or anything, but it wasn’t—.”

“Ah,” Stiles hissed. “Fuck.”

“You okay?”

“Talk,” Stiles commanded through gritted teeth as he slowly pushed the plunger down.

“Um. It wasn’t great. Like I said. But they’ll probably come around? People tend to and I’m pretty sure it’s impossible _not_ to like Danny – even if you are related to him. I mean, he’s just so, I dunno, Danny. I don’t know how he puts up with Jackson, though. An asshole if ever there was one. No idea what Danny sees in him. Or what Lydia sees in him. I mean, he’s—.

“Okay. You can stop.”

Scott took a breath and looked at Stiles.

“You okay?” he asked again.

“Fine,” Stiles nodded, hold his hand to his leg and rubbing it. “It just hurts, but I’m okay.” After a minute he got up and dropped the needle in his biohazard box. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Scott said. “You need anything else?”

“No. Just my trusty friend the internet.” He patted his laptop.

“Hey,” said Scott, in a tone of mock-offense. “I thought _I_ was your trusty friend.”

“Sure you are.”

“I’ve been your friend since before you could even use the internet.”

Stiles smiled.

“Oh, the nineties.”

“Seriously, through. Can I do anything?”

“You already did,” Stiles replied with a smile. “Get back to Allison. And don’t–?”

“I know.”

“Thanks.”

“Any time, Stiles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a disclaimer, I've never been on T so I may have gotten some details wrong. The information about doing injections comes from a friend of mine and this youtube video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aot-68ewRvo. If you want to get a little more detail, you should watch it, but it is a guy giving himself a shot so if that bothers you then don't watch it.


	10. Chapter 10

“Jackson fucking Whitmore is the bane of my existence,” said Stiles, dropping onto his bed next to Derek, who had taken to hiding out in his room even when he wasn’t there.

“You want me to rip his throat out with my teeth?” asked Derek, without looking up from his work.

“Somehow I don’t think that will help very much.” Sties sighed and fell onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

“What did he do?” asked Derek, closing his book at looking at Stiles.

“Nothing.”

Derek rolled his eyes.

“Stiles.”

Stiles sighed and kept glaring at the ceiling like it had personally insulted every family member he possessed. Derek waited patiently until Stiles spoke, his voice a little strained despite his attempt to sound casual.

“He called me by my legal name.”

“What?” Derek’s tone was sharp and his body straightened, tensing as if he was about to physically jump to Stiles’s defense.

Stiles just shrugged.

“How did he—?”

“It’s on all my records. It comes up if you put my email into the directory.”

Derek snarled, a low, feral sound that made Stiles sit up and look at him. His whole body was taught and his narrowed eyes were bright blue.

“Derek?” Stiles asked, cautiously.

“He can’t treat you like this,” he snarled, pushing himself up off the bed in a single motion.

“What are you—?” Stiles asked, scrambling to his feet as well.

Derek turned, eyes blazing blue and lips pulled back into a snarl over pointed teeth.

Stiles froze, his breath caught in his throat and his own eyes went huge with sudden fear. He’d never really seen it before: the monster that dwelled within Derek. Sure, he’d seen him change that one time, but it had been dark and Stiles had been filled with the invincible power of the triumphant. Now, however, Derek wasn’t Derek. He was a creature, something to be feared – hunted, even – and Stiles suddenly understood why people like Allison’s family weren’t necessarily the bad guys he had come to think of them as.

Derek held the snarl for a moment and, even though he hadn’t fully shifted, Stiles could see no sign of his human nature. Then Derek’s eyes focused in on Stiles and Stiles took an involuntary step backwards, bumping into the bed and nearly falling. He turned to catch himself and when he looked back, Derek was inches from him, his hand on Stiles’s arm. Stiles had flinched away before he looked up and saw that Derek’s eyes had returned to their usual color and were full of pain.

“Stiles?” he asked cautiously, holding his hands palms up, non-threatening and close to his body.

Stiles swallowed, still looking at Derek like he was dangerous.

Derek sighed and turned away, moving slowly to the far side of the room.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’ll just go.”

Derek was nearly out the door when Stiles found his voice at last.

“Don’t,” he said quickly.

Derek stopped in the doorway and looked back at Stiles.

“Don’t go.”

Derek closed his eyes for a moment, but came back into the room, closing the door, and standing beside it, his gaze just brushing Stiles as he waited for him to speak.

“I didn’t mean to freak out,” he said at last. “I just—.”

“Saw what I really am?” Derek suggested darkly.

“No,” said Stiles at once. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But that’s what happened. You were scared of me, Stiles. And you should be. That monster? _That’s_ what I am. That’s what I really am.”

Stiles was shaking his head slowly.

“No, that isn’t you. I _know_ you,” he said, a note of pleading in his voice.

“No, you don’t,” he said dismissively.

“Bullshit,” Stiles snapped, the insult giving him sudden strength. “I don’t care how good of a liar you think you are, Derek. I know you.”

“Everyone who knew me is dead expect for my sister,” he spat back. He looked away from Stiles and ran a hand through his hair. “I should go. I’m just going to get you hurt.”

Derek had his hand on the doorknob when Stiles spoke.

“You’re scared too,” he said, his voice small yet certain. “You’re scared of yourself and you’re scared of what other people will think of you. You don’t want them to just see you as this one thing that’s not even in your control, but sometimes it feels like that’s all there is to you. You’re scared it’s going to take over your life or that it already has.”

Derek turned slowly to stare at Stiles.

“You can’t control your own body,” Stiles continued. “What could possibly be more scary than that? It’s okay to be scared, Derek. You don’t have to lie about it.” Stiles bit his lip, waiting to see if he’d been right. It had been a gamble, saying all of that, assuming that Derek felt the way he did, at least in part.

Derek was silent for a long moment.

“How did you—?” he asked at last.

“We’re alike,” said Stiles, a note of relief in his voice. “Don’t you get it? You and me, we’re feeling the same things.”

“You’re not afraid you’re going to kill me,” said Derek, his voice flat and dark.

Stiles glanced away and sighed.

“But I am afraid you’re going to leave me.”

Derek stood very still for a minute before swallowing and speaking.

“You think I’d leave you just because you’re—?” he asked.

Stiles’s jaw tightened.

“You’re not even going to say it?”

“Stiles. You’re trans. I’m a werewolf. We’re both a little fucked and you’re right, it is scary. But—.”

“Yeah?”

“But we’re also a hell of a lot more than that and I think we could both do with recognizing it,” he said firmly.

Stiles stared at him for a moment.

“Now,” Derek continued. “Would you like me to rip out Jackson’s throat or not?”

“Not,” said Stiles. “Danny would be pissed, for one thing. And this is about me and him. I should deal with it.”

Derek nodded.

“Alright.”

Stiles put on his best determined face and went down the hall to talk to Jackson. He knocked on the door, trying to remember to stand with his feet shoulder width apart and his weight spread evenly and to not let his voice get too high and not to flail his hands around and—.

“What?” called Jackson’s voice.

“You busy?” asked Stiles.

“What do _you_ want?”

“Don’t be a dick,” said Danny’s voice. “Come in, Stiles.”

Stiles opened the door, trying to keep the twisting in his stomach from showing on his face. Danny was on his bed with his computer, leaning back against the wall, looking relaxed and casual in the same sort of way people looked relaxed and casual in fashion spreads. Jackson was on his own bed, sitting in a small sea of books and glaring at his laptop screen.

“What’s up?” asked Danny.

“Um. I actually wanted to talk to Jackson.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why?” he demanded.

Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but Danny cut in.

“Should I go?” he asked, looked a little apprehensive.

Stiles glanced between Danny and Jackson, frowning.

“I’m gonna go,” Danny said flatly, closing his laptop and sliding past Stiles into the hall.

“So what do you want?” Jackson asked.

“To talk,” Stiles said trying to be firm, though it came out more like a question than anything else.

“About?”

“About how you need to stop being an asshole to me,” said Stiles, folding his arms and giving Jackson his best glare.

“Excuse me?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“You know, I don’t think I can make it a lot clearer.”

“So you came in here to, what, stand up to me like some big man?” Jackson asked snidely, getting off his bed and coming to tower over Stiles. “’Cause you’re not, Stilinski.”

Stiles swallowed, but told himself he was not backing down from this one. Not this time.

“Yeah, I am,” he said. “Well, maybe I’m short, but at least I don’t have to be a dick to people for no reason in order to feel good about myself.”

“What are you trying to say?” demanded Jackson, taking another step towards Stiles.

“That there’s not a single damn reason for you to treat me like this unless you’re threatened by me.”

Jackson took a breath, clearly about to retort, but no words followed.

“You’re just scared of what you don’t understand, aren’t you?” Stiles asked. “You really are scared of me.”

“Why the hell would _I_ be scared _you_?”

“Why else would you lash at out me? I haven’t done anything to you.”

Jackson just glared at Stiles.

“What is it, then?” he asked. “Why are you doing this?”

After a moment, Jackson dropped his gaze.

“That’s what I thought.”

Stiles nodded, his jaw set, and turned to go.

“Stilinski,” said Jackson sharply.

Stiles glanced back, waiting for Jackson’s next jab.

Jackson glowered at him for a moment before shrugging and turning away.

Stiles frowned, but left and went back to his room.

Derek was sitting on his bed again and he looked up when Stiles returned.

“I think that might have worked?”

“What happened?”

“I think I just told him that he didn’t have a reason for being an asshole so he should stop,” said Stiles, dropping onto the bed again.

“Hm.”

“You okay?” asked Stiles after a moment.

“Fine. You?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He gave Derek a small smile. ”Yeah.”

* * *

Christmas break was long. Even discounting Scott’s near-constant, Allison-related sighing and having to tell every single relative he possessed that, no, he hadn’t declared a major yet, the days dragged by, filled only with the small distractions of tumblr and the occasional text from Derek. Stiles tried not to text him constantly, but it was hard. Whenever anything funny happened or something reminded him of Derek or someone said something stupid and hateful, Stiles wanted to tell him. Derek almost always replied quickly, which Stiles took to be a good sign. The up shot of this was that Stiles became a lot more obsessive about checking his phone. In high school, Scott had been the only person to text him with any sort of regularity and he’d tended to ignore it if he’d been busy. Now, however, even a phantom buzz sent him scrambling for his phone.

“Stiles, we’re eating,” his father chided him. “You never used to check your phone at the table.”

“Sorry, Dad,” Stiles said, sliding his phone reluctantly back into his pocket without looking at it.

“You’ve been doing a lot of texting lately. College thing?”

“Um, yeah, I guess,” said Stiles with a shrug.

“This wouldn’t have anything do with Derek, would it?” his father asked.

“Um,” said Stiles.

“You have been talking about him a lot.”

Stiles shuffled in his seat, pushing his food around with his fork.

“I guess I have,” he admitted after a moment.

“So,” his dad prompted.

“So?” Stiles stalled.

“So how are things going with him? Are you two officially...?”

Stiles could feel his face burning. This was so not the conversation he wanted to be having with his father. It was hard enough to explain his _thing_ with Derek to himself, much less anyone else. He’d been hoping that his dad wouldn’t ask about it again, but he had been talking about Derek a lot. He just couldn’t help it that most of his good stories from college centered around Derek. He sighed, thinking of the best way to be honest without being detailed.

“Sorta?” he said at last.

“Sorta? Is that what kids are calling it these days?”

“Dad!” Stiles rolled his eyes. “It’s just a little complicated.”

“As long as you’re being safe,” he said calmly.

Stiles could only splutter for a moment.

“Dad! Jesus Christ!”

“I’m being serious, Stiles. You’re an adult, I know, but you should still be safe.”

“We’re not—. I mean, we’re taking it slow.”

His father nodded.

“Probably a good call.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re young,” he replied with a shrug. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I know.”

There was a short pause in which Stiles tentatively went back to his dinner.

“Well,” his father said. “What do you get up to with Derek? Does he help you with your homework? Buy you dinner?”

“Sometimes,” Stiles admitted. He felt a little weird about it when they went out to eat and Derek paid for his food, but, judging by the car, Derek could afford it. And it was also super-cute. Like real people dating.

Stiles couldn’t help smiling as he tried to explain the sorts of things he did with Derek to his dad – minus all the making out and lycanthropy, of course.


	11. Chapter 11

When Stiles arrived back on campus, it was late. He and Scott hauled their bags up to their dorms and parted ways to unpack a little before crashing. Stiles had texted Derek the second he’d set the parking break, but hadn’t heard back yet so he figured Derek was still in transit. He got bored halfway through unpacking and was about to just give up and go to bed when there was a knock on his door.

“You know you can just come in,” he said, feeling himself grinning at the anticipation of seeing Derek again.

However, when the door opened, it wasn’t Derek standing there. It was Scott. But, Stiles reflected, the invitation was still the same, just with different implications.

“Oh. Hey,” said Stiles intelligently.

“Can I hang out here?”

“Yeah. Of course, but, uh, why?”

Scott came in and closed the door.

“The lounge is weird when it’s empty and my room is, um, busy.”

“Isaac’s hooking up with someone?” asked Stiles, astonished.

“He’s with Derek.”

“What?” Stiles demanded, jumping up off the bed and nearly falling over.

“Not like that,” said Scott quickly. “They’re just talking.”

“Oh,” said Stiles, slumping against his bed. “What about?”’

“Dunno, but it sounded pretty serious. They didn’t want me to come in.” Scott dragged his bag in from the hall and closed the door.

“Any guesses?’ Stiles asked.

“Honestly? It’s probably about his family.”

“Isaac’s?”

“Yeah.” Scott shifted uncomfortably in the way that Stiles knew meant he was deciding how much to say. “I think his dad’s pretty rough on him, you know?”

Stiles sucked in a breath.

“Jesus. Okay, he’s officially forgiven for stealing my—.”

Scott gave Stiles a prompting look.

“My human,” Stiles muttered, hoping it hadn’t sounded like a lie. He’d trust Scott with his life, but werewolves were just not something he wanted to talk about. Neither was his relationship with Derek, if he was honest. But Derek’s secret was just that, his own, and Stiles knew better than to go around outing other people. “So, um, do you want to crash here? My floor’s probably more comfortable than the lounge sofa.”

Scott shrugged.

“They might be done soon. But maybe, yeah.”

The two boys sat with their laptops for a while, speaking only to share something funny they’d found. Stiles had already seen most of what Scott showed him, but he laughed anyway because he was a good friend like that.

It was nearly an hour later that there was a knock on the door.

Stiles’s heart and stomach did something thrilling and strange at the sound of the voice on the other side of the door.

“Stiles? Is Scott in there?” called Derek.

“Yeah,” they replied in unison.

The door opened and there was Derek. It took Stiles a moment to take in anything past the simple existence of the man in front of him. He’d been a little afraid that in their time apart his brain had edited his memories of Derek to make him as unhumanly beautiful as Stiles remembered. But no. Derek really was just that hot. After a moment, Stiles was able to see past the blinding beauty of his perfect facial structure to the wear on Derek’s face, the heaviness weighing on his shoulders, and the pain in his eyes. Stiles was on his feet at once, crossing to Derek quickly, concern on his face.

“Derek?” he asked, holding out a hand a little hesitantly.

Derek shook his head briefly, eyes strained. He turned to Scott.

“Isaac says you can come back.”

“Um, thanks,” said Scott, uncertainly.

He glanced at Stiles, who just shrugged. He got to his feet and grabbed his bag.

“I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” said Stiles absently.

Scott gave him a tight smile and headed down the hall, leaving Stiles alone with Derek.

All Stiles wanted was to fling himself into Derek’s arms, but Derek had a look on his face that said that if anyone touched him he’d totally wolf out.

“Um?” said Stiles. This was not one of the ways he’d imagined their reunion might go. And he’s spent a lot time imagining different ways it might go.

Derek gave his head a shake as if to clear it and turned his eyes to Stiles, his look much gentler now.

“Hey,” he said, voice a little strained, but caring.

“Hi,” Stiles replied, smiling.

He stood there a moment longer before he simply couldn’t stand it and was flinging himself into Derek’s arms. Derek pulled him close, holding him tightly and rubbing his cheek against Stiles’s hair until it made him giggle.

“What are you doing?”

Derek froze like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Scent marking,” he said so uncertainly that came out almost like a question.

“Scent marking?” Stiles repeated, twisting a little so he could look up at Derek’s face.

“It’s a wolf thing,” he muttered, pulling away. “We rub our scents on each other to mark our packs.”

“Your pack?” asked Stiles cautiously.

“Wolves live in packs. It’s like a family, expect you don’t have to be blood related, just share an alpha – a leader.”

“I know. About wolves, I mean. I did some research.”

Derek smiled slightly.

“You? Research? I’m shocked.”

“Shut up,” Stiles mumbled, suppressing his own smile, which quickly turned into a yawn. He glanced at his clock. “Oh man, it is _late._ Tell me we don’t have class tomorrow.”

“We have a day off, yeah.”

“Awesome.”

Stiles turned to his half-unpacked suitcase and started rooting around for his pajamas. When he looked back at Derek, he was surprised to find him shifting uncomfortably.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Um,” said Derek, licking his lips, any hint of his usual suave smirking gone.

“What? Are you okay?” Stiles dropped his sweatpants back onto the pile of clothes and frowned at Derek.

“I don’t want this to be weird, but could I maybe—. Uh.” He ran his finger through his already disheveled hair. “Could I sleep here tonight?” he asked in a sudden rush.

Stiles’s eyes widened much faster than he suspected was natural and he stared at Derek, not at all sure what he was asking for.

“I mean. Just sleep. In bed. Together. Asleep,” Derek clarified quickly, stumbling over his words in way that just did not go with his perfectly sculpted everything. “If that’s okay. It’s okay if it’s not okay.” He gave Stiles killer puppy dog eyes. Probably without even meaning too, Stiles thought.

“Um. Breathe, Derek,” said Stiles, smiling the smile of the unsure. “You just want to sleep here?”

“It’s sort of a wolf thing. Packs sleep in groups sometimes. Sometimes a lot of the time, if they’re stressed. It’s just instinct.”

“Oh,” said Stiles, feeling something sink inside him.

“Not that I don’t—,” Derek said at once, seeing the look on Stiles’s face. “I just—.”

“Stay,” said Stiles before Derek could blunder any further.

“What?”

“Stay,” he said more firmly.

Derek gave him a grateful smile.

“I’ll, um, let you change,” he said and turned to face the door, as if he’d taken a sudden interest in the dirty towel that hung there.

“Right.” Stiles scrambled to get into his pajamas, nearly falling over trying to change his pants.

“I don’t really have anything to sleep in besides this. Do you mind if I just sleep my t-shit and underwear?” He sounded almost nervous.

“Uh, no. Not at all,” said Stiles, willing his voice not to break. He picked up his pajama shirt (which was actually just an over-sized Batman t-shit he’d gotten at Target because it was super soft) and narrowed his eyes at it.

“Are you—?” Derek started.

“Not yet,” said Stiles quickly. He really didn’t want to not be in his binder in front of Derek. And it wouldn’t just be in front of Derek; it would be seriously close physical proximity to Derek – extended seriously close physical proximity.

“You okay?” asked Derek.

“Fine,” Stiles replied at once and that time his voice definitely did break.

“You’re not,” Derek said. However, it wasn’t an accusation. Derek’s voice was gentle and a little confused, like he was sure something was wrong, but couldn’t figure out what it might be. “Stiles?”

Stiles turned around, still holding the shirt. Derek was looking at him now, his body tense like he was ready to look away again if Stiles didn’t want to be seen.

“Sorry,” Stiles said at once.

“Why?”

Stiles shuffled a little, fidgeting with the shirt and not knowing what to say. He didn’t want Derek to see him like that, his body set free to fall back into old and terrible habits. He certainly didn’t want Derek to touch him like that. He stared at the ugly tile between their feet, his in socks with a hole in one toe and Derek’s in those black boots that were just waiting for a reason to kick someone’s face in.

The boots took a few steps and closed most of the distance between them. Stiles looked up.

“It’s okay,” Derek told him.

Stiles shook his head jerkily, looking away again and willing himself not to cry.

“Just put your pajamas on. You can’t sleep in that thing.”

Stiles glanced up at Derek, frowning a little.

“You’re not the only one capable of using Google. Now change. It’s okay. I promise.”

Stiles nodded and Derek touched his arm for a moment before returning to his study of the towel. Stiles tugged off his shirt and then wiggled out of his binder. He pulled on his pajama shirt, tossed the dirt one into his laundry bin, and shoved his binder out of sight into his suitcase. He cleared his throat so Derek would know he could turn back around.

Derek smiled at him and something about the way his eyes flickered over Stiles’s chest told him that Derek was taking in the Batman logo and not his change of shape.

Stiles sat on his bed, arms wrapped tight around himself, while Derek took of his shoes, socks, and pants. He held very still, trying to keep anything from moving. One of these days he’d be able to get surgery, but until then time spent out his binder was time spent either in too-small sports bras or trying not to move too much. Or in the shower, but that was a whole different matter.

Stiles also had to try not to stare at Derek’s ass in tight, black boxer-briefs when he bent over to get this phone out his pants’ pocket. Well. Maybe he didn’t try that hard.

“Do you want inside or outside?” Stiles asked, gesturing at the bed, which was suddenly looking quiet small.

“Inside, if you don’t mind.”

“No,” said Stiles at once. “Get the light?”

Derek set his phone beside Stiles’s on the little bookcase that played double-duty as a bedside table and then turned off the overhead light, leaving only the little lamp casting a pool of gold over their phones. Derek moved silently across the tiny room and got into bed. Stiles lay carefully down beside him, his back to Derek’s chest. He turned out the light, plunging them into quiet darkness.

Campus was still beyond the window. Lots of people wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, but both Scott and Stiles had been eager to make an early return to school. Stiles could hear a few night sounds from outside, but Derek’s soft breaking dominated his hearing. He could feel his heart hammering against his chest and tried to focus on breathing slowly and calmly.

“It’s okay,” said Derek again and Stiles suddenly realized that Derek could probably hear his pounding blood. “Tell if I’m doing anything you don’t want.”

Stiles nodded in the darkness, knowing Derek could see him just fine.

Derek scooted closer to him, his body fitting against Stiles’s back. Stiles didn’t move, barely even breathing.

“Aright?” Derek asked.

“Yeah.”

Derek’s arm found its way around Stiles’s waist, resting between his hip and ribs where Stiles’s body was soft and reasonably unobjectionable.

“Relax. I’m not going to bite you.”

Stiles let out a slightly choked little laugh, but let some of the tension leave his body. Derek’s hand found his arm and his fingers closed gently around it. They lay in silence for a moment, but Stiles was sure Derek was still awake.

“I missed you,” Stiles said quietly.

“I know,” came the reply from the darkness behind him and Stiles was sure Derek was smiling at least a little. “I missed you too,” he added.

Stiles smiled to himself and felt his body relaxing more into Derek’s. Derek was warm and soft against him, yet firm and very real at the same time. His body felt warmer than was normal for humans, but not so hot that it was a problem. Stiles figured it must be a werewolf thing.

The next silence was longer, but eventually Stiles couldn’t not ask any more.

“Um? Is Isaac okay?”

Derek didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” said Stiles quickly. “I shouldn’t have asked. Never mind.”

It seemed Derek had chosen to ignore the question as instructed, but then he spoke.

“No,” he said, very quietly. “But I think he will be. Or he can be, if he gets what he needs.”

“Can I help?” Stiles asked.

Derek shifted behind him, pushing himself up onto an elbow. Stiles rolled onto his back to look around at him. Derek touched his cheek gently with his free hand and Stiles could make out his smile.

“If he wants you to, he’ll ask. This isn’t something you should push.”

“I know.”

“Don’t ask him about it, alright?”

Stiles nodded and Derek kissed his temple before lying back down and letting Stiles settle against him again.

“Why does he trust you?” Stiles asked after a moment.

“Why do _you_ trust me?” Derek shot back.

Stiles thought about this for a moment. Once it had been said, he knew that he trusted Derek completely, but he never had really thought about why.

“I know you,” he said at last.

“You didn’t before. But you trusted me anyway. That night at the party, you weren’t afraid. You trusted I wouldn’t hurt you even though you knew I could.”

“I was drunk,” said Stiles, shrugging with his free shoulder.

“You can be drunk and afraid. You weren’t afraid of me that first night with the mountain ash either,” Derek pointed out. “Why do you trust me?”

Stiles was quiet for a moment before answering.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Why do I trust you?”

“You’re a dog person,” said Derek at once.

“What?” asked Stiles, laughing and twisting around to look at Derek.

“People like dogs. “Man’s best friend” and all that.”

“Isaac and I trust you because you have dog vibes?”

Derek shrugged.

“What about Jackson? He doesn’t like you.”

“I gave him a damn good reason. Wolves aren’t lapdogs.”

“Uh-huh,” said Stiles sarcastically, snuggling up more comfortably to Derek.

“Oh, go to sleep.”

Stiles was dead tired and it was so comfortable to lie there with Derek wrapped around him, warm and safe and real. As much as he wanted to stay awake and saver the movement, Stiles was asleep before he knew it. The last thing he remembered was thinking how he’d never be able to get to sleep with Derek’s breath tickling the back of his neck like that.


	12. Chapter 12

The next thing Stiles knew, he was awake with several warm, heavy weights thrown across him. He squinted in the morning light and found himself on his back with an arm across his stomach, a leg across his knees, and Derek’s face pressed into his neck. Derek’s breathing was slow and even and his face was totally tranquil. Stiles couldn’t remember ever having seen him look like that before: peaceful and lovely and relaxed, no weight on his shoulders or wrinkles on his brow. He looked startlingly younger. Stiles hadn’t realized before just how much of a toll Derek’s life had taken on his body and the way he held himself, always ready to run or fight. Asleep, Derek lost all of that. Stiles wished he could look that relaxed when he was awake.

Stiles shifted, trying to see the clock, but Derek’s arm tensed and he nestled closer, not letting Stiles get away. Stiles rolled his eyes, but settled back down. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be. He usually couldn’t fall back asleep after waking up in the morning, but he’d hardly started entertaining the idea when he was asleep again, Derek pressed against him, all warmth and safety and peace.

When Stiles next woke up, he was alone in the bed. He looked around, disoriented and worried Derek would have just left, but Derek was sitting at his desk, doing something on his phone. Stiles made a sleepy, pleased sound and Derek looked up.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Stiles made a face.

“You were still asleep when I woke up the first time,” he told him. “What time is it?”

“About ten thirty.”

Stiles nodded and sat up, keeping the blanket pulled up over his chest. He grabbed his phone, but didn’t have any messages. Scott was probably still asleep (unless Allison had gotten back) and Derek was there with him. No one else texted Stiles that much. He set his phone back down and looked around at Derek.

“So...”

“Yeah?” he asked, not glancing up.

“I dunno.” Stiles flopped back onto the bed. “You doing anything today?”

“Actually, I told Isaac I’d take him shopping.”

Stiles stared at Derek, trying to picture him shopping and not managing it.

Derek saw the look on Stiles’s face and smirked.

“There’s just some stuff he needs that he couldn’t get over break and it’ll be a lot easier to carry in my car than on his bike.”

Stiles nodded.

“When?”

“We didn’t set a time,” said Derek, shrugging and looking back at his phone.

Stiles watched him type out a text and send it. He looked away quickly when Derek glanced up.

“Just texting Laura,” he explained.

“Have you told her about me?” Stiles asked, trying to sound off-hand.

“She knows,” he said.

Stiles frowned.

“I just haven’t given her details.”

“Why not?”

“Have you given your dad details?”

“Okay, point. But it’s not because I don’t want to it. I just don’t know how to explain this.”

“Exactly,” said Derek.

“Oh.” Stiles was quiet, plucking at his bedspread. “Is this the part where we have a serious relationship conversation?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“Not really?” Stiles admitted.

“If you’re okay, I’m okay.”

Stiles thought for a moment. Some sensible part of him told him that he should take advantage of this chance and try to hash out what exactly this thing that they had was. But it sounded hard and like things could go wrong. Whatever they had, Stiles liked it and he did not like the idea of doing something that might make things weird between them.

“I’m okay,” Stiles said.

Derek nodded.

“I think the rat is open. We should get some food.”

* * *

They spent a long time in the rat, eating breakfast, talking, catching up with people, and playing on their phones. Several hours later, Derek arranged to meet Isaac in the parking lot behind his building. He and Stiles turned in their dishes and walked together until their path split ways.

“I’m not sure how long we’ll be. We’ll probably get food at some point and, you know, whatever else he needs.”

“Okay. I should probably unpack and do laundry and stuff.”

“You need anything?”

“What?” asked Stiles.

“Can I get you anything while I’m off campus?”

“Oh. Nope. I think I’m good, but I’ll text you if I think of anything.”

Derek nodded, glanced around for a moment, and kissed Stiles.

It was brief, but felt genuine and warm.

“See you,” said Derek, checking for his keys and then turning away.

“Yeah. Bye. Have fun,” Stiles said, sounding a little dazed.

He stared after Derek, feeling a little shocked. Derek had never kissed him out in the open like that, where people who see. Stiles didn’t know why, but Derek always seemed very careful about their relationship. He didn’t hold Stiles’s hand or do much more than sit next to him if they were hanging out with other people. Even that night when the hall and co. had watched _Serenity_ to celebrate Scott having seen all of _Firefly_ , Derek had just sat next to him despite the fact that both Scott and Allison and Erica and Boyd were cuddling. (Though that might have had more to do with Derek’s distrust of Allison.) Stiles liked the idea that Derek was comfortable enough with their relationship thing to let it be seen. He smiled to himself and turned back towards his building.

Allison was standing feet from him, looking very serious.

“We need to talk.”

Stiles swallowed. This had to be about one of two things. Either something had gone horrible awry with Scott and she expected that Stiles would be able to explain it or she was still concerned that Derek was gong to kill him.

“Uh, sure,” he said, trying to keep his voice causal. Allison was really cool and he totally got why Scott loved her, but she was also kind of terrifying. And possibly wanted to kill Derek.

“Come on.”

She led him to her room. Lydia wasn’t there and Allison closed the door and stared at Stiles until he sat down in her desk chair. She perched on the edge of her bed, still basically standing since she had it set so high. He looked up at her and tried not the gulp.

“You should stop seeing Derek,” she said flatly.

“I thought that might be it,” Stiles replied, almost feeling relieved. He was so not the guy to solve any relationship problems she had with Scott. 

“I’m not kidding. You have to call it off with him,” she said, her voice getting more urgent.

“Why?” he asked, wondering how she was going to cover up the real reason.

“Stiles, I lived in Beacon Hills for a while. I know what he’s like.”

“Oh?” asked Stiles, getting to his feet to face her better. “And what is he like?”

“He’s—. He’s not stable.”

“Well, his whole family did get burned alive in his childhood home,” Stiles pointed out, tone dark and eyes narrow.

“He’s bad news, just trust me.”

“You knew him like five years ago. People change a lot between fifteen and twenty.

“Look, I moved out of Beacon Hills after the trial was over, but I had friends who were still there, who knew him after the fire and things were... different.”

“Well, yeah. Like I said, serious trauma.”

“It wasn’t just that.” She ran her hand through her hair, clearly frustrated that Stiles wasn’t listening to her. “Bad things happened.”

“Like what?”

“Just trust me, Stiles. You should stop seeing him.”

“What happened?” Stiles asked again, taking a step towards her. He knew he should just tell Allison that he knew about werewolves, but the part of him that wanted to defend Derek was egging him on.

“Nothing good.”

“You’re telling me that Derek and Laura just stayed in Beacon Hills after everything?” he asked, stressing both names enough to make it clear just how personal this was.

“No, they moved, but they ended up going somewhere I’d lived before. I know people who knew him all through high school.”

“Convenient,” Stiles muttered.

“Hey, I’d be much happier if I hadn’t spent my life ping-ponging around the country,” she snapped.

“So what did Derek do? Did he drop out of high school? Get busted for drugs?”

“No.”

“What then?”

“I—. I can’t tell you.”

“You dragged me in here to talk to me about something you can’t tell me?”

“Can’t you just listen to me?” she asked, a hint of begging in her tone.

“Can’t you just tell me?” he retorted.

Allison glared for a moment, turning away from him. Stiles looked around the room and his eyes fell on a black, nylon case in the shape of a half-moon.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“What?”

“That,” he said, pointing.

“My bow,” she replied, sounding confused.

“For hunting?” Stiles asked sharply.

“What?”

Stiles held her gaze for a long moment.

“That thing you can’t tell me about?” he asked. “I know. I know because Derek trusts me. And because I figured it out,” he added. “But he never denied it and he’s never hurt me.”

Allison stared at him, eyes wide with shock.

“You know?” she whispered. “How much do you know?”

“I know Derek’s a werewolf and that your family are hunters who kill people like him,” he spat.

“It’s not like that,” she said quietly.

“I think Derek would argue with you on that one. He’s got some compelling evidence.”

Allison sighed.

“Stiles, listen. We’re not all like Kate. She’s my aunt and I love her, but I wasn’t lying when I said she went crazy. As much my family wanted the whole thing covered up, none of us condoned what she did. When the police came for her, my dad, her brother, told them where she was.” Allison stopped and swallowed. Stiles could see tears shining in her eyes. “We have a code. It dictates what we’re allowed to do, what creatures we can take down. None of the people in that house had broken it. If Kate hadn’t been arrested, I think my dad would have killed her.”

It was Stiles’s turn to stand in shocked silence now. Allison wiped her eyes quickly before continuing.

“I don’t want to hurt Derek. That’s not why I’m here. I didn’t even know he went here until you guys started talking about him.”

“So why are you so determined to split us up?” Stiles asked.

“Because no matter how well he means, he is what he is and he can still kill you.”

“Why do you think that?”

“They lose control on the full moon, especially when they’re on their own like Derek is here. If you were with him when he changed on the full moon, he could kill you and not even know he was doing it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So I don’t hang with him on the full moon. What’s the problem?”

Allison shook her head.

“Other things can make them lose control. They’re volatile like that; it’s just their nature.”

“What kind of things?” Stiles asked.

“Heightened emotion,” Allison replied. “Especially more base emotions like anger, hatred, lust.” She glanced away from him and licked her lips uncomfortably.

Stiles remembered the times Derek had lost control. Once he’d been angry and once he’d definitely been, well, lusty, for lack of a better word. His hand pressed against the place Derek had broken his skin.

“You’ve seen it happen,” said Allison quietly, studying Stiles’s expression.

“Nothing serious. He got it under control,” he said quickly.

“But did he hurt you?”

“Not really,” Stiles mumbled.

Allison raised her eyebrows.

“Look,” said Stiles at last. “We’ve talked about this, Derek and me. We have it under control. You’re not going to talk me out of this.”

“I did get that impression,” she said with a wry sort of smile. “But I should tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

“If I find out that he’s hurt you – or anyone else – or if he’s changed someone against their will, it’s my duty to take him out. And if I don’t think I can do it, I know plenty of people who can.”

Stiles swallowed.

“Glad we had this talk,” said Allison and Stiles knew he was dismissed.

He walked over the to door, but stopped and looked back at her.

“You don’t have to hate him. None of this is his fault.”

“I don’t hate him, but he puts everyone I know in danger.”

“You’re both dangerous because of your families. You’re just a weapon that’s aimed,” said Stiles quietly.

“And don’t you think that’s safer?”

“Just leave Derek alone, okay? I think he’s more afraid of you than you are of him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Wolves used to live in California naturally until humans killed all of them.” Stiles sighed. “Look, Allison, I’m sorry. Can we not fight? We both care about Scott and I think you’re a cool person. Just don’t kill anybody.”

“I won’t unless I have a reason.”

Stiles nodded.

“I guess that’s fair. But you don’t have to act like Derek is a bomb that’s about to go off.”

Allison thought for a moment and then nodded.

“I guess that’s fair too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't judge Allison too harshly based on this chapter. Unlike in the show, she's never hung out with any good werewolves before. She's just behaving how her family taught her to, but she is trying to understand.


	13. Chapter 13

“Allison says she doesn’t want to kill you,” Stiles said when Derek appeared in his doorway.

“That’s nice,” replied Derek, frowning.

“She grabbed me after you left and told me to stop seeing you and I told her no and she told me yes and I asked her why and she wouldn’t say. So I told her I knew and she told me you’d kill me and I told her you wouldn’t. So basically, she won’t kill you, but if she finds out you’ve hurt anyone she is going to kill you. Or possibly get her dad to do it if she doesn’t feel like it.”

Derek blinked at him a few times.

“And I was so looking forward to killing a bunch of people tonight,” he said dryly.

“What?” Stiles yelped.

“Sarcasm,” he said, kissing Stiles on top of his head and then scent marking him for a moment before sitting on Stiles’s bed and consulting his phone.

“How was shopping?”

“Fine. Productive.”

“Texting Laura?” Stiles asked. Derek had that look he got when he was talking to his sister, focused and a little bit sad.

“Yeah. She visited Peter today.”

“Peter?” Stiles looked up, frowning at Derek. He couldn’t remember Derek ever having mentioned anyone by that name before.

“Our uncle,” he said quietly.

Stiles’s frown deepened. It had been his understanding that Derek had lost everyone except Laura in the fire, but he supposed he had started to skim the reports after a while.

“Peter was in the fire, but he survived. Sort of,” said Derek, his voice choppy and rough.

“What—?” asked Stiles carefully.

“He was burned really badly, but the paramedics got him out somehow. He’s technically alive, but he’s been unresponsive for almost six years.” He stared down at his phone and Stiles could see the weight on his shoulders growing heavier.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

Derek went back to texting Laura and Stiles turned around in his chair to stare at tumblr and feel guilty for a while. Once he felt like it had been long enough, he ventured an unrelated (and hopefully not upsetting to Derek) comment.

“So, um, we’re having a hall and co. movie night tonight to celebrate everyone being back on campus. We’re watching _Jurassic Park_ because a bunch of people haven’t seen it. If you want to come?” He glanced at Derek, trying to gauge a reaction. Maybe he’d changed the subject too soon.

“Um, sure,” said Derek after a moment. “Sounds good.”

“Oh, cool,” Stiles replied, smiling. “We were all gonna go eat at the rat and then come back here.”

“Okay. I should probably go back to my actual room so I can shower and stuff,” he said, getting to his feet.

Stiles almost offered Derek his towel and hall shower before realizing that was totally weird and snapping his mouth shut on the words in the nick of time.

“Okay. See in the rat around six?”

“Alright.”

* * *

Stiles really loved hall and co. movie nights.

They’d started out as just hall movie nights, but then Scott had asked to bring Allison and Jackson had brought Lydia without asking and Lydia had brought Erica and Boyd. Stiles supposed this was how friendship happened. His friends and hallmates and their friends were all piled into the tiny lounge, many of them on top of one another, cuddling happily. Danny set up the movie while anyone with a microwave went to make popcorn.

When Stiles got back with a bag in each hand, Derek had wedged his way between the tangled of legs created by Scott, Allison, and Isaac, who were all sitting on the couch that was barely meant for two. He leaned on the ugly wood frame, looking more relaxed than Stiles had even seen him in such a large group. Stiles handed a bag of popcorn to Scott to share on the couch and tried to figure out where to sit. To his surprise, Derek grabbed his wrist and tugged him down, settling Stiles between his legs. Stiles wondered if something had happened over break to make Derek so touchy-feely in public or if it was just that the right amount of time had passed.

“Alright,” said Danny, speaking loudly to make himself heard over the babble. “Everyone shut up. I’ve got it working. Someone hit the lights.”

Someone did and everyone stopped talking – or at least switched to whispering.

“Guys, shut up,” called Danny again.

The group fell silent as the movie began, speaking only to point out their favorite moments or insult the characters’ terrible life choices.

Stiles settled back against Derek’s chest, a little uncertainly, but Derek made no objection. They shared the popcorn until it was stolen by Erica for her and Boyd. Stiles suddenly felt very unsure of what to do with his hands and began to fidget awkwardly, but Derek reached his arms around Stiles’s waist and took his hands, holding them gently against his stomach. Stiles tensed in surprise for a moment, but then relaxed into Derek. It felt very natural somehow, the two of them together like that.

When the movie was over, no one seemed much inclined to go to bed, even though classes started the next day, and they all sat around talking. Stiles eventually scrambled away from Derek to talk to Danny about the latest season of RuPaul’s Drag Race and make plans to watch it together. Sure that commentary by Jackson would not improve the show, they agreed to meet in Stiles’s room and then both fell into fits of laughter over the idea of Derek watching it with them.

Stiles glanced back at Derek and saw that he was talking to Allison. They both looked tense, but were nodding. Stiles had no idea how they were managing to talk about what they must be talking about with so many people around, but he figured it was better not to question it.

“You did good with that one,” said Danny, nodding towards Derek.

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, still staring dreaming at Derek.

“What’s he like?”

“What do you mean? You know him.”

“Yeah,” Danny said, “but I know public Derek. I know what he lets strangers know. You must know what he’s actually like.”

Stiles nodded.

“So what’s he like?”

Stiles frowned, thinking.

“He means really well,” he began.

“But,” Danny prompted.

“Not but. He just sometimes doesn’t know how to channel it.”

Danny looked confused.

“He’s protective,” said Stiles, trying to figure out how to explain Derek without giving away any of the reasons for his behavior. “But not in a like a creepy possessive way. He’s had to deal with a lot of bad shit in his life and it shows, but—.”

“You mean the fire?” asked Danny, a little eagerly.

“Yeah, but it’s not like he’s just all trauma. He can be really sweet, but—.” Stiles chewed his lip, trying think of the right words. “I think he’s afraid to look weak.” He glanced towards Derek, hoping he hadn’t heard, but he was still talking to Allison.

“He doesn’t trust easily,” Danny observed.

“No, but I guess that’s reasonable.”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, people,” said Lydia, standing up.

Everyone fell quiet. They all liked Lydia, but they were all a little afraid of her too.

“Classes start tomorrow. Does anyone not have class tomorrow?”

One person raised their hand.

“Well then. It looks like we should head to bed.”

No one argued.

Still chatting, the group got up and started to head to their rooms.

“’Night, guys,” said Stiles, yawning and waving at Scott and Isaac.

Derek followed him back to his room and Stiles decided not to question it.

“So, did something happen to you over break?” he asked once he and Derek were in his room.

“What?”

“You’re just suddenly a lot more into PDA,” he said, shrugging.

“Have I been? I didn’t mean—.”

“It’s fine,” said Stiles, quickly. “I mean, it’s good. I like it. It’s not like we’re being gross in public, but you’d never even kissed me where other people could see until today.”

Derek shrugged.

“Oh come on. What’s up?”

“I guess,” Derek said, sitting on the bed. “I guess being away from you just made me realize how much I like you.” He glanced up at Stiles and then looked away again. “I think I was driving Laura up the wall, talking about you so much, but I really missed you, Stiles, and I guess I realized that this isn’t something that I had to hide. I mean,” he went on quickly, seeing Stiles’s frown. “I mean, that it’s something that I want people to know about. If that’s okay.”

“That’s very okay.” Stiles swallowed. That was by far the most Derek had ever said about their relationship outside of talking about his fear of hurting Stiles. “So, um, what are we—?” he asked uncertainly.

“What are we...?” Derek repeated, confused.

“I mean, what are we doing?”

“Going to bed?” suggested Derek.

“No, I mean, are we like a _thing_ a thing or just sort of casual or...?”

“Oh. Um.” Derek looked suddenly much more uncomfortable.

“Not that we have to call it anything,” said Stiles at once.

“I would call it dating,” said Derek.

“Dating,” Stiles repeated, smiling.

Derek smiled back and held out his hand to Stiles. Stiles took it and allowed himself to pulled onto the bed, settling beside Derek. He smiled when Derek took his chin, tilting his head to the proper angle for kissing.

Stiles had never found the idea of kissing to make much sense. All evidence had pointed to it being enjoyable, but he hadn’t been able to imagine why. Now, however, everything was clear. He still probably couldn’t explain why kissing Derek felt so good, but there was no arguing with the fact that it did. Derek was still more cautious than Stiles felt was necessary, but he didn’t really mind. As much as part of him had enjoyed being manhandled (up until the point when he’d started bleeding), he knew that the hesitance and caution were just different ways of Derek saying that he cared.

Still, things did manage to heat up, caution or not, and Stiles was panting when he pushed Derek away.

“Dude, I have class tomorrow morning.”

“Oh. Right,” Derek said, sounding a little disappointed.

“Are you staying?”

“If you want me to.”

Stiles nodded.

“Lemme just go brush my teeth and everything.”

A few minutes later, they were curled up in bed together again. Stiles sank back into that feeling of warmth and safety that seemed to emanate from Derek. He sighed happily and Derek gave his arm a gentle squeeze.

“What were you talking to Allison about?” Stiles asked.

“Just making sure we were both on the same page about not killing each other.”

Stiles frowned.

“Shouldn’t you not do that in public?”

He felt Derek shift as he shrugged.

“It’s fine. People weren’t listening and, even if they were, who’d believe us?”

“I guess that makes sense,” said Stiles, a little dubiously.

“If nothing else the Argents ought to feel guilty enough about what Kate did that they’ll give me some space. And I haven’t broken their code. Trust me, Stiles. It’s going to be fine.”


	14. Chapter 14

The next semester lost no time in steamrollering Stiles with work. He quickly felt like he never saw anyone outside of class or the library. Even when he was spending time with people, a lot of said time was spent studying. Derek was taking several really intensive courses and was spending an increasing amount of time in the library surrounded by stacks of books. While he was always pleased for Stiles to come work with him, it was exactly a dream date.

Still, all the work kept Stiles’s over-energetic brain occupied and that was worth something. He spent less time worrying about the tense peace between Derek and Allison and more time worrying about getting his reading done. He thought that this was probably a bit more healthy. He and Scott had a class together (they’d figured that since they each had to fulfill a fairly useless math requirement that they might as well do it together) so Stiles often worked in Scott and Isaac’s room when Derek was busy. He was starting to feel like a real college student. It was nice. Except for when he ended up trying to read scientific journal articles at three in the morning because he’d spent too much of the afternoon on tumblr.

He was walking back from class one afternoon, trying to remember what time Derek’s fitness training thing ending, when he was hailed by Lydia.

“Stiles,” she said falling into step beside him and starting to steer him towards her building. “We need to have girl talk.”

Stiles stopped and stared at her. Lydia had never said anything like that to him before. It always stung more for some reason when people who he’d thought knew better did things like that.

Realizing Stiles was no longer beside her, Lydia stopped walking and looked back at him where he stood staring at the ground.

“Oh my god, that came out wrong,” she said at once, hurrying back to him. “I just meant it as an expression. Girl talk like people talking about their feelings and boys and eating chocolate. As apposed to bro talk where you talk about sports and sex and eat chips. It really has nothing to do with the genders of the people involved. I’m pretty sure Jackson and Danny have secret girl talk.”

“Oh,” said Stiles, brightening. “Um, sure.”

“Good.” She linked her arm through his and marched him to her room.  “So,” she said once she’s sat him down on her bed. “How are things with you and Derek? Tell me everything.” She leaned forward into Stiles’s space, waiting for his answer.

“Um?”

“You guys are still together, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“So. How is it going?”

“I dunno,” mumbled Stiles.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, folding her arms.

“It’s fine, I guess.”

“You guess? Stiles, is something wrong?” She peered at him in concern.

“No, no, it’s all fine,” he assured her quickly. “It’s really great, actually.”

“Good in bed?” she asked.

“What?” Stiles squeaked.

“Is he good in bed?” she repeated. “Jackson’s main redeeming quality is being good in bed.”

Stiles could feel himself flushing, but Lydia was looking at him, clearly waiting for his answer.

“Um? He’s a good kisser, I think,” Stilles offered.

“You think? You seem very unsure about this whole relationship. I’m not sure that’s healthy.”

“He’s the only person I’ve kissed,” he admitted.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

Stiles shifted uncomfortably, but it was obvious that there was no escape until he told her the truth.

“We haven’t exactly...”

Lydia stared at him.

“You’re telling me you’ve been dating _Derek Hale_ since the fall and you haven’t tapped that yet?” she asked incredulously.

“We’re taking it slow,” said Stiles, defensively.

“Okay,” said Lydia, holding up her hands in surrender. “Is it because of...?”

Stiles shrugged, folding his arms across his chest as if to protect himself.

“I think maybe he had some bad relationships before or something.”

“Has he told you about it?”

“I don’t think he wants to. But it’s not a problem. I don’t mind.” Of course, there was a whole other aspect to the situation that he couldn’t tell Lyida about: the part where Derek was afraid he might kill Stiles.

Lydia nodded.

“As long as you’re both getting what you want and no one’s getting things they don’t want.”

“It’s all consent and cuddles,” said Stiles, his voice hitching under stress.

Lydia laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Even though Stiles would never understand what she saw in Jackson, he certainly got what Jackson saw in her.

“So, uh, how are things with you and Jackson?” asked Stiles, figuring that was the direction the conversation was supposed to go.

He immediately decided he’d been wrong, however, as Lydia’s eyes flashed with anger.

“Or not,” he said, quickly.

“No, it’s fine,” she said, her voice crisp and just a little pleased. “I dumped his sorry ass.”

“Oh. Um. Is this the part where we eat chocolate?”

“It will be the part where I have cocktails with Allison tonight to celebrate.”

“Oh,” said Stiles again. “Congratulations?”

“Thanks.” She gazed coolly out of the window for a moment. “I’m sorry if he somehow gets it into his tiny brain to take this out on you. Not that I wouldn’t mind a good excuse to slap him again.”

She smiled at the memory. It was the kind of smile that makes men inch cautiously towards doors.

“I’ll let you know,” Stiles told her. “So, uh, any reason you broke up now?”

“Dumped,” Lydia corrected. “And, you know, sometimes accessories just go out of fashion.”

Stiles nodded, not entirely sure what she meant. Lydia operated on a whole other level from lowly mortals like himself. There were probably several whole other levels between Stiles’s level and Lydia’s level, he thought, but it was nice that she’d decided he was an acceptable companion regardless.

“Has he been acting differently?” she asked, like Stiles was her personal spy in the matter.

“I dunno. I don’t really talk to him. How long has it been?”

“Just a couple of days.”

Stiles nodded.

“I can keep an eye out?”

“Thanks.”

She smiled at him and he felt like preening. Even though Stiles had never really wanted to be more than friends with Lydia, there was something about her (well, maybe everything about her) that just made him want to turn into a peacock. Lydia inspired people to want to impress her even though it was obvious that the chances of success were practically nonexistent. Maybe that was some of what was wrong with Jackson, Stiles considered. Maybe too much time around Lydia had made him realized that he wasn’t actually perfect and he’d reacted poorly to it.

Lydia spent a while expounding on the diverse and numerous flaws that Jackson possessed, from his insults of Stiles to his secret insecurities about various parts of his anatomy.

“But it was good sex,” Lydia sighed at last. “Still, there will always be people you can get good sex from.” She broke off another piece of chocolate with a sharp _snap_ and handed it to Stiles. “I can’t believe I didn’t do this months ago.”

* * *

“Dude, where’s Derek?” asked Scott, sticking his head into Stiles’s room.

“Out. I dunno. It’s not like I have a GPS on him.”

“I just thought I remembered him saying something about having a paper due tomorrow so I figured he’d be here working.”

Stiles shrugged. He actually didn’t know where Derek was even though he’d been pestering him about it for ages. All he’d say was that it was safer for Stiles not to know where he went on the full moon.

Scott flopped onto Stiles’s bed.

“Allison’s gone off somewhere too,” he complained.

Stiles tried not to tense too visibly at that. He was sure Allison was near if not exactly where Derek was, armed to the teeth and ready to take him out at the slightest hint of danger to others.

“You wanna hang out here?” Stiles asked, even though it was fairly obvious that the answer to that question was yes.

“Yeah.” Scott sounded a little glum and Stiles turned around to look at him. He pulled his laptop out and opened it, but then just stared at the screen.

“Okay,” sighed Stiles, closing his own computer and going to sit next to Scott on the bed. “What’s going on?”

“I just feel like Allison is keeping something from me,” he said at once.

“So?” asked Stiles.

“So, I don’t like feeling lied to by my girlfriend.”

“She’s perfectly within her rights to not tell you every tiny detail of her life, you know,” he pointed out.

“I know, but I feel like it’s something big.”

“Well, you could ask her, but maybe it’s something she doesn’t want people to know about.”

“You mean something besides that her aunt is a murderer?” he asked gloomily.

“People have a lot of secrets. Maybe it’s something personal.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Bad shit in high school or something.” Stiles really hoped he was handling this right. He, of course, knew exactly what Allison was keeping from Scott: the world of hunters and werewolves that he was unknowingly entangled in.

“Yeah, I guess.” Scott sounded really unconvinced.

“Don’t press her about it, man. Everything else is good, right?”

“Yeah,” said Scott, now falling into that blissed out expression he got when he talked or thought about Allison.

Stiles shook his head.

“Don’t you have homework or something?”

Scott made a face, but opened a new tab and pulled up JSTOR.

Stiles went back to his own computer. He sat down at his desk, back to Scott, but didn’t start working. He couldn’t stop worrying about the fact the Derek was out there, all wolfed-out and unable to control himself, and that Allison was out there too, probably ready and able to kill him. He liked Allison. They’d studied together more this semester and she really did seem like a good person. However, she also seemed like a person who was perfectly capable of murdering Stiles’s – for lack of a better work – boyfriend.

He knew Derek was perfectly within his rights to not tell Stiles what exactly went on during the full moon, but Stiles was still curious. And, if he knew, then maybe he wouldn’t be so worried. Or maybe he’d be more worried. Maybe that was how Derek was protecting him this time.

Stiles tried to shake it off, but he couldn’t help worrying once a month about what was happening to Derek. He knew he should probably be more worried about the rest of campus, but Derek was the person at the forefront of Stiles’s mind. He worried about Allison too, of course, but more what she might do than what might be done to her. Sure, Derek had his magical healing powers, but surely hunters had developed ways to counteract those or there wouldn’t much point in them trying at all.

“You okay?”

Stiles looked around at Scott, confused.

“What?”

“I said, “Are you okay?” You seem a little distracted or something.”

Stiles scrubbed a hand over his short hair.

“Can’t focus.”

“Have you taken anything?”

“No, but if I take it now, I’ll just be up all night.” _Worrying about Derek_.

Scott frowned.

“You wanna do something to relax?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“Like watching _Gargoyles_ on Youtube?”

“Fuck. Yeah,” said Stiles decisively.

Five minutes later, they were curled up on Stiles’s bed with a bag of Doritos from Scott’s room and watching what had to be the hands-down best cartoon from their childhoods.

Stiles still flinched at sounds from outside, but he slowly relax, episode by episode, until he was basically just cuddling Scott. They nearly fell asleep on each other, but eventually Scott declared that he was going to bed. Stiles watched a few more episodes and then managed to get his laptop to safety and himself into pajamas before falling asleep from pure exhaustion.

He slept fitfully and his dreams were dark, but he was awoken the next morning by a perfectly intact Derek telling him that he smelled like Scott and fake cheese.


	15. Chapter 15

Derek didn’t spend every night in Stiles’s room, but it was certainly becoming a pattern. It wasn’t a pattern that bothered Stiles, quite the opposite, but it did baffle him a little. Derek didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d be content to just kiss and cuddle and be, if Stiles was honest, frankly quite adorable. He figured the cuddling must be a wolf thing, like Derek had said. It did strike Stiles as odd that Derek wanted to take things so slowly considering that night at the party. Still, he wasn’t complaining.

They occasionally went to Derek’s room now, though it was really only because Stiles had pestered him about never having seen it. It turned out to be pretty boring and his suitemates were loud and bro-y. Once, Stiles and Derek had gone to Derek’s place after too many hours studying in the library only to find it over-flowing with a Thursday night party. They’d just sighed, turned around, and started the trek back towards the dorms. Apparently, “certainty of noisy suitemates” outweighed “possibility of a hunter” in Derek’s book and so they tended to stick to Stiles’s room.

It was a weekend in mid-March. They were squarely in the middle of the lunar cycle so that particular danger was at the far edges of their minds. The weather hadn’t gotten totally warm yet and, with the window open, Stiles’s room was the perfect temperature, even with a werewolf space heater. Stiles loved nights like these. The hall was quiet, but he was sure he could find company if he wanted it. He had work to do, but not so much that he couldn’t put it off till Sunday afternoon. It would have been perfect expect that Allison had left for the weekend to meet up with her family somewhere and Stiles knew Scott was flopping around his room whining and bothering the shit out of Isaac.

But Stiles really didn’t care. Derek was lounging on his bed, reading book for a class and, as usual, looking like some kind of god. Stiles was at his desk even though he’d given up on work at least half an hour ago and was scrolling through tumblr. He tried not to glance back at Derek too often, but it was hard to keep his gaze away from the lines of Derek’s body, his elegantly relaxed form that made Stiles’s messy bed look like a photo shoot backdrop. If Derek had needed the money, he totally could have put himself through school as a model.

“Why do you keep looking at me?” Derek asked from behind his book.

“What?” Stiles said, trying to make the word sound casual mid-yelp.

“You keep looking at me.”

“Should I not look at you?” Stiles asked, closing his computer and turning his chair to face the bed.

Derek shrugged, eyes still on the text.

Stiles glanced around briefly. Door: closed. Curtains: closed. Stiles shrugged slightly to himself. Might as well.

He got up, shoved his chair as much under the desk as it would go, and perched on the edge of the bed by Derek’s feet. Derek’s eyes stayed firmly on his book. Stiles scooted further up the bed until Derek’s sprawl blocked his way. Still no response. Stiles huffed out an annoyed breath before snatching the book away and tossing it into a pile of clothes on the floor.

“I do have to read that, you know.”

“Not on Saturday night you don’t,” Stiles informed him, swinging a leg over Derek’s waist to straddle him.

Derek rolled his eyes.

“Oh come on. You’re the worst boyfriend.” He folded him arms and looked as sulky as possible.

“Am I?” asked Derek, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Stiles conceded, still sounding as grumpy as he could manage.

“I meant, am I your boyfriend?”

Stiles blinked.

“Aren’t you?”

Derek gave him a wolfish smile, but it was the sort that sent thrills instead of fear through Stiles.

“Do you want me?” he asked.

“I thought you could smell the answer to that one,” Stiles said, making a face.

Derek raised his eyebrows in a way that managed to be very sassy and very “come hither” at the same time.

“I think the real question here,” said Stiles, shifting a little to bring his face closer to Derek’s, “is do _you_ want _me_?” He felt a little silly talking like he’d stepped out of a bad fantasy porno, but his boyfriend was a werewolf, after all. If anyone had the right to talk that way, he did.

Derek gave him a look that was a few hairs shy of being condescending, but grabbed Stiles by the back of the neck and hauled him down into a kiss.  Stiles nearly lost his balance and fell, but Derek’s other hand was on his waist, holding him steady. When he broke the kiss, Stiles felt almost lightheaded, smiling a little dazedly at Derek’s smirk. Stiles didn’t care that he didn’t have the experience to make an informed decision; Derek Hale was a fucking amazing kisser. He had just the right balance of passion and tenderness; possessiveness, need, caring, and desire all mixed together with an undertone of danger, but a constant awareness of how fragile Stiles was. It was enough to make any boy’s head spin.

“Yes?” asked Derek, still smirking at him.

“Wha—?”

“You stopped.”

“ _You_ stopped.” Stiles did his best to glare at Derek and failed fairly epically.

“And yet you’re just sitting there.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and moved back in.

Kissing Derek was like slipping into another dimension. His perception of the world tightened and widened all at once. His whole world was Derek, but he could take in every inch of that world. With his eyes shut, his other senses seemed heightened. He was lost in a world made chiefly of touch, which was overwhelming for Stiles, who hadn’t done much physical interacting since his mom had died. Time moved differently in the world of Kissing Derek Hale. Stiles doubted he’d know the difference between ten minutes and an hour, maybe only if got uncomfortable straddling Derek. He wondered vaguely if this was sort of like being high.

Not that he had much time for thinking. Once Derek seemed sure that he had a green light from Stiles, his movements were firm and eager. He seemed heavy, somehow managing to weigh Stiles down with his arms alone, pulling their bodies closer together. He kissed hot and hard and Stiles thought that maybe some of his lightheadedness was from lack of air.

He was still learning to navigate making out. He’d been surprised to find, all those months ago, that it was harder than the movies made it look and less battle-like that smut made it sound. Finding the right place for lips, teeth, and tongue would have been hard enough on its own. But it was all split-second reactions to Derek’s movements. Not to mention how hard Derek made it to think about what he was doing.  He had to remind himself not to over think it, just relax and go with it. Give in to the Derek Make Out Zone.

But then Derek had moved away from him again and Stiles almost whimpered his displeasure.

“Cool it; I’m not leaving,” Derek assured him. “But you’ve somehow managed to cut off the circulation to one of my legs.”

Stiles was almost proud of himself for that before realizing that it wasn’t a good thing. Still, cutting off a werewolf’s circulation with his pathetic body mass was pretty impressive, right?

Derek shoved at Stiles’s side gently until he moved and Derek was able to wriggle out from under him. Stiles knelt uncomfortably on the very edge of the bed while Derek settled himself. He looked away, feeling suddenly very awkward. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to keep going, it was just that when he stopped and thought about it, he felt really weird. And not just because kissing was an objectively strange activity. (Seriously. Who decided that putting your mouth on someone else’s mouth and getting really friends with their tongue and spit should feel good? It was freaking absurd.) He still did not understand why Derek was doing this. Stiles had nothing to recommend him. He wasn’t very good looking; he certainly was built the way Danny was. He wasn’t overly intelligent. Sure, he’d usually done better than Scott in high school, but he was no Lydia. He didn’t have any interesting skills or talents, not like Jackson and lacrosse or Allison and archery (well, killing werewolves). He was just Stiles. Scrawny, hyperactive, uninteresting Stiles with his fucked body and gender. And then there was Derek. Smart, driven, strong, protective, caring, and drop-dead gorgeous Derek. Stiles really did not get it.

“Stiles?”

He jerked from his unhappy thoughts and turned to see Derek.

Totally shirtless.

In his bed.

Stiles wasn’t sure where his voice had run off to, but it was very gone as he stared, wide-eyed, at Derek. Sure, he’d seen him shirtless before, but only briefly and never like this, very much on display for Stiles and Stiles alone.

“You okay?” asked Derek, looking suddenly concerned.

Stiles coughed and managed to speak.

“Yup. All good. Great, even. I’m great.” His voice came out more than a little squeaky, but he couldn’t waste the attention to care.

“You wanna come back over here?”

“Definitely.”

Derek nearly dragged Stiles back into his lap, settling his weight more comfortably, but not wasting much time on such trivial matters. Stiles barely had a moment to rest his hands on Derek’s shoulders and just appreciate the shirtless glory of the whole situation before he was pulled, roughly and willingly, back into the world of Derek Hale and his perfect mouth.

It was even better now.

Derek’s natural body heat was just slightly more intense without the cotton barrier of his shirt. Stiles quickly found ways to get a hand against Derek’s chest without breaking any other contact. His skin was hot, smooth, and surprisingly soft. Stiles wasn’t sure what he’d expected. He supposed that skin was, in general, soft, but he hadn’t ever really associated the word with Derek. Derek was rough stubble and grabs at his shirt. But he was also baby-ass soft skin. Go figure.

Skin that was also growing sweaty in a way that was much sexier than sweat had any right to be. Derek was heating up. And Stiles was causing it. Scrawny, strange little Stiles was doing _that_ to Derek Hale. The very idea sent thrills through Stiles and he kissed Derek harder, finding chances to tug at his lip with his teeth, making Derek’s breath catch, just for a moment. He made a mental note to thank every god he could think of later.

When Stiles next immerged from Derek Land, flustered and feelingly nearly drunk with dizzy pleasure, Derek’s hand had found the bottom of his ribcage. The moment Stiles took this fact in properly he froze up like a prey animal upon hearing a sound.

And Derek stopped to.

“What is it?” he asked, pulling away from Stiles, moving his hand, and breaking as much contact as possible. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” said Stiles, sitting back a little and running a hand over his hair.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No,” he said, a little slowly.

“We can stop,” Derek said at once.

“Do _you_ want to stop?” asked Stiles.

“I just don’t want to push you.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m just not sure—.” Stiles licked his lips, trying to find the right way to explain himself without making Derek think he’d done something wrong, which he hadn’t. “I’m just not sure when it won’t be okay. Does that make sense?”

“You don’t know your boundaries.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Derek nodded.

“You know that you can always stop me, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Stiles wondered if everyone was this careful and consent-happy or if it was a Derek thing. Not that it was a bad thing, of course. It just wasn’t what he’d expected, all of the caution and checking-in.

“Do you want to keep going?” Derek asked and the way he said it made Stiles sure that any answer would be okay.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I might stop you?”

“Okay.”

And then they fell back into making out. Stiles was baffled by how easy it was to go from a fairly serious conversation to hard-core making out. He jut lost himself with Derek like that. He didn’t care that they way he was moving could bring the rating up on a movie. He didn’t care that Derek was pushing his binder up his back. In fact, he didn’t just not care; he liked it. He liked it a lot.

Derek pulled away from him, panting and sweaty, and looked at Stiles with such want that he almost felt like someone else. No one had _ever_ looked at him that way before. No one wanted Stiles. No one, expect Derek.

“Can I take your shirt off?” he asked breathlessly.

“Why?” asked Stiles, letting the first word that came into his mouth fall out.

“Because I want to be closer to you,” Derek replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Stiles stared at him. Derek wasn’t asking to see his “real body” or touch his boobs or anything. There was nothing weird or fetishizing about it. He just wanted to be closer to him. And that had to be the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to him.

“Okay,” he said.

“Sure?” asked Derek, eager, but still cautious.

Stiles nodded.

Derek sat up more fully and tugged Stiles’s t-shirt off over his head and tossed it away into the mess on the floor. He ran his hands over Stiles’s body and instead of highlighting his curves, the pressure of Derek’s hands just made his chest feel flatter. It was amazing. But Derek’s fingers landed on the hem of his binder and he looked at Stiles with a clear question in his eyes.

Stiles swallowed. He really wasn’t sure. He’d been careful not to let Derek see him completely topless before. He couldn’t stand the idea of Derek thinking of him as looking or feeling like that. But Derek had never gotten his pronouns wrong, had always jumped on anyone who had, and hadn’t once treated him like anything other than what he was. Stiles trusted Derek, he really did. And he also really wanted to feel Derek’s hands on his skin.

He nodded.

“Sure?’

“Yeah.”

Derek took hold of the bottom of his binder and pulled it up.

Where it got stuck.

Derek tried to save face and Stiles tried to help him, but his arms hadn’t been at the right angle and getting out of the damn thing could be hard enough when he wasn’t sweaty with two extra and inexperienced hands in the way.

“What the fuck?” Derek muttered under his breath. “This thing is insane.”

“It’s sorta hard to deal with sometimes.”

Derek made another attempt, but only ended up getting one of Stiles’s arms tangled.

“Dude, just stop,” Stiles said, trying not to laugh and not doing very well.

Derek jerked away at once at let Stiles tug his binder back down to start over again.

“You went at it all wrong,” Stiles told him.

He crossed his arms over his stomach and peeled the tight fabric off over his head before tossing it away in the direction of his shirt. Once it was gone, he realized he’d been too focused on getting the thing off properly to think about what would happen next.

He was topless in front of Derek.

Derek was looking at him. Looking at his chest.

Looking at him like he wanted him, like nothing had changed.

“Ta-da,” said Stiles weakly. “That’s my party trick.” He watched Derek looking at him and part of him was screaming to scramble for the blanket and cover up everything that was wrong with his body. But he didn’t. He trusted Derek, trusted him not to fuck this up. And if he did, well, he’d been going back to his own room tonight.

Derek took a breath, preparing to speak, and some part of Stiles tried to figure out if he’d be fast enough to slap a werewolf.

“Stiles Stilinski.”

That was a good start.

“You are, by far, the most attractive man I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

Stiles stared at him, dumbfounded. At last he managed to stammer a few words, unable to take the compliment.

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“You think I’m kidding?”

“Um, yeah.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Stiles blinked, realizing it was true. Derek would not lie to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was going to raise the rating, but, as you'll notice, it didn’t. Sorry? I’m not much of a smut writer and I felt like it wasn’t really important to the plot so I decided not to mess up the story with a bad scene. (In case you were wondering, Stiles will not consider himself to be a virgin by the end of the school year, even though we won't see it in this story.) Anyway, if people really want me to, I can do a side story that’s more PWP. But you will have to wait.


	16. Chapter 16

Stiles awoke the next morning in nothing but his Batman underwear with Derek pressed again him. The previous night seemed distant, as if he’d been drunk. It was like it hadn’t happened to him, like he’d been watching a movie or reading a really detailed story about some other guy and Derek. Not that he regretted what had happened, but he couldn’t remember feeling that okay with his body since he’d been a child, too young to realize that everything was wrong. He’d expected to hate the feeling of Derek touching him, but he hadn’t. It had been alright. More than alright. Way more.

Derek made a drowsy noise and opened his eyes.

“Good morning, sleepy,” Stiles said, smiling.

Derek rolled his eyes and nuzzled his face against Stiles’s neck.

“Oh,” he said. “Oops.”

“What?”

“I sorta bruised the crap outta your neck.”

“Am I bleeding?” Stiles asked.

“No.”

“Was I bleeding?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

They lay in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s warmth. Stiles liked the weight of Derek’s arm across his waist, skin on skin, warm and real.

Derek lifted his head and squinted at the alarm clock.

“I should probably go,” he said, sighing and propping himself up on his elbows.

His movement pulled the blanket down and Stiles automatically grabbed for it and tugged it back up over his chest. In the morning sunlight, he felt much more naked than he had the night before. He knew Derek had seen him, touched him, and not cared, but this was different somehow.

“Why?” he asked, once he was safely covered again.

“I’m meeting some people to talk about a group project and I should get a shower before then.”

Stiles nodded.

Derek got out of bed, somehow managing to not lose his dignity as he climbed over Stiles. After a brief hunt, he tugged on his shirt and pants and was ready to go.

“You might want to wear a scarf,” he told Stiles.

“Embarrassed?”

“My work is an art,” Derek said.

Stiles made a face.

“I’ll see you later.”

“I feel like a booty call,” Stiles grumbled.

“I said I’d see you later.”

Stiles made a face and Derek came back over and perched on the edge of the bed.

“Stay?” he asked, still not fully awake.

“I can’t,” said Derek, running his fingers gently through Stiles’s short hair. “We’ve put off the project too long as it is. But I’ll be back when I’m done, okay?”

“Fine.”

He kissed Stiles briefly and left.

Stiles flopped back against his pillow and just lay there for a while before getting to his feet and finding what he needed for a shower.

* * *

“Stiles!”

Allison’s shout made Stiles freeze in the hallway, his body suddenly shot through with fear from her tone. When he turned, she had already run right up into his personal space.

“Wha—,” he tried to say, but Allison ignored him, talking low and fast.

“I’m calling my dad. I don’t care what he told you this is—. Oh Jesus, Stiles. What are you going to do? Where did he—?”

Stiles stared at her in confusion for a moment and then it clicked.

“ _Oh_ ,” he said, flushing and clapping a hand over as much of his neck as he could. “Oh that. That’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” repeated Allison incredulously.

“It was all, you know, consensual and stuff.”

“But did he—?” Allison leaned closer to him and whispered. “Did he _bite_ you?”

“What? No. Well, not like that, anyway. Everything’s fine. No Stileses were turned in the making of these hickies. Everything is peachy.”

“Oh.” Allison glanced at the floor, suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah.”

Stiles turned to head back to his room.

“Oh, Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“I have something for you.” She dug in her pocket. “Here.”

She held out a small bottle on a leather thong.

“What is it?” he asked, taking it from her and looking at it. The miniature glass bottle held dark powder with silver flecks floating in some kind of liquid.

“It’s a sort of charm.”

“Against werewolves?” asked Stiles, voice hardening.

“Well, not exactly.”

“What is it then?”

“It won’t hurt him for you to have it near him. But if something goes wrong or you run into another one with less pleasant intentions, all you have to do it break the bottle against their body.”

“What’ll happen?”

“It’s silver and mountain ash specially to make it more potent. The liquid is aconite oil. It hurts them a lot. Not enough to do real damage, but enough to give you time.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes.

“I trust Derek,” he said, holding it out to her.

“I know.”

“He’s not going to hurt me.”

“Please, just take it. Getting mixed up with one werewolf only leads to getting mixed up with more werewolves. Even if Derek is safe—.”

“He is,” interjected Stiles angrily.

“You’ll probably end up running into others. And not all of them value assimilation the way the Hales did.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, distracted.

“It’s just what my dad’s told me.”

“What?” Stiles pressed.

“Just that the Hale pack worked really hard to live among humans and keep a low profile. Some packs do that. But other packs—.” She licked her lips and sighed. “Some packs don’t value human life. They think that being werewolves makes them superior.”

“So they turn people?”

“No,” Allison said. “Werewolves like that are almost always born into a pack. And they don’t want to change humans. They want to kill them. That’s why hunters are important.”

“But Derek was born like that,” Stiles pointed out.

“And that’s why his pack made such a big deal to the hunters that they weren’t a threat. Some of them had been turned, but not by the Hales and most of them were born. It was a big pack, like scary big, but they never broke their promises.”

“So why don’t you trust Derek?” Stiles asked.

“Because he has a damn good reason to hate hunters. And the Hale pack was an exception. Usually a pack that size is a major threat.”

Stiles shook his head.

“It’s like there’s a whole supernatural world of politics,” he said.

“You have no idea.”

Stiles thought about asking and decided that he really didn’t want to know any more.

“Just keep the charm, okay?”

“Okay,” he said.

Allison nodded to him and headed back towards Scott and Isaac’s room.

Stiles looked at the charm. He thought about just flushing it down the toilet or something. But maybe Allison was right. Just because Derek wouldn’t hurt him didn’t mean every werewolf was going to feel the same way. He tucked the charm into his pocket, making a mental note to stash it someplace later, and went into the lounge, hoping to find it an empty place for him to do his reading without the distractions of his laptop.

Alas.

“Stiles!”

“Oh. Hey, Erica. Boyd.”

“Look at you,” she said, grinning wickedly at she got to her feet and sashayed right into Stiles’s personal space. She peered at his neck and Stiles jerked back when she tried to touch him.

“Whoa. What are you doing?”

“Just looking.” She smiled at her long, red nails.

“Well, I guess I’ll go do my work in my room,” Stiles said, starting to back towards the door.

“Oh no you don’t.” Erica’s fingers clamped down on his wrist nearly hard enough to bruise and she hauled him back into the lounge. “Derek Hale is your boyfriend,” she declared.

“Uh, yeah,” muttered Stiles. He hadn’t really said it in so many words to anyone else.

“And you know what that means, don’t you?”

“Um?”

“It means,” she began dramatically. She glanced over at Boyd. “You know, don’t you?” she asked sharply.

Boyd nodded and she gestured for him to enlighten Stiles.

“It means you have to go shopping,” Boyd informed him.

“What?” asked Stiles, totally not seeing the connection. “Why?”

“Derek Hale is the best-looking guy on campus,” Erica said like it was a scientifically proven fact. “His boyfriend can’t just run around in jeans and a t-shirt all the time.”

“I wear hoodies,” objected Stiles.

Erica gave him a withering look.

“Well, so what?” he asked. “Derek starting going out with me looking like this. He can’t mind that much.”

“Just because he doesn’t mind, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t like it better.”

Erica folded her arms and made it very clear that there was no arguing with her. Stiles looked to Boyd for help, but he just shrugged. It seemed there was no escape.

Stiles sighed.

“Fine,” he said, annoyed. “But this can’t take all day. I’ve still got work I need to do.”

Erica looked extremely pleased.

* * *

“Does that fit?” Erica called through the dressing-room door.

“Should I be able to breathe with my pants on?”

“Boyd, go get him the next size up,” she ordered. “Stiles, put your own pants on so I can see the shirt.”

A minute later, Stiles appeared in a tight, burgundy Henley.

“This just looks like I stole one of Derek’s shirts and shrunk it,” he sulked.

Erica pursed her lips.

“He does have a point,” Boyd said, holding out a new pair of jeans. “You can’t dress them to match,”

“Fine. But we can’t just put him in polos. It wouldn’t fit his build or his personality.”

“Hipster look?” Boyd offered.

“That would be cute. Button downs and suspenders. Get him some good vests. Layers are probably the best look.”

“I don’t want to be a hipster,” Stiles said.

Erica frowned at him.

“I don’t suppose we can just get you to wear suits?”

“No,” said Stiles flatly. “Look, I can’t afford like half this stuff anyway. Can we just go back to campus?”

“You can’t just spend you life in t-shirts that don’t even fit you,” Erica protested.

“Look,” said Boyd. “How about Stiles changes out of the mini-Derek look and we go someone else? We can hit up Goodwill and if we find some, great, and if not, we can go home.”

Erica didn’t looked thrilled, but she nodded.

“Change,” she told Stiles.

Fifteen minutes later, they were back in Erica’s car, driving to the Goodwill. Erica marched him up and down the aisles, pulling out colored flannels, button downs, and fitted t-shirts. She found a few pairs of jeans to add to the pile and made him try it all on.

The jeans were a no-go, but several of the shirts were declared to be acceptable. Stiles managed to escape when Erica got distracted by dressed and wondered off on his own. He found himself looking through the jackets. There were some nice leather ones, but, as always, they would all completely eat Stiles. Between several alarming raincoats and a faux-fur monstrosity, something caught Stiles’s attention. He pulled out a coat and kind of fell in love.

It was long enough that it would probably reach to his ankles and reminded him strongly of the Tenth Doctor’s coat. The lining wasn’t as nice, of course, and it was a little darker and lighter weight, but the cut was about at the same. Praying that it wouldn’t look absurd, Stiles swung it on and stepped towards a mirror.

“Yes,” said Boyd flatly. “Wear that.”

Stiles looked into the mirror and was surprised. Not only did the coat actually fit him (and almost nothing actually fit him), but it looked good. He slowly smiled at his reflection. Erica, apparently drawn by the power of clothes, appeared moments later.

“Stiles,” she said. “That is it. Put on a decent shirt and get that man.”

“I think he already has him,” said Boyd.

“Whatever. Where are the shirts?”

* * *

When they got back to campus, Stiles nearly had to force Erica out of his room so he could do his work. Derek was off somewhere doing something so he had some peace and quite to work without distraction. He’d only gotten through about half his reading when he got a text from Erica.

_Are you done yet?_

He texted her back telling her that, no, he was still working.

_Tell me when you’re done._

Stiles rolled his eyes and went back to his work.

It was moving towards midnight when he texted Erica telling her that he was finished.

_Done._

Erica was knocking on his door less than ten minutes later.

“Dress.”

She and Boyd bickered over shirts while Stiles sat on his bed, yawning. Eventually they settled on a deep blue button down with jeans and the coat. Once he was dressed, they looked Stiles up and down, each seemingly deep in thought. 

“Um?” asked Stiles.

Erica and Boyd looked at each other for a minute, like they were having an in-depth psychic conversation. Eventually they nodded.

Stiles shook his head, baffled by the whole situation. He barely had time to grab his keys and wallet and lock the door as they herded him out into the hall. They chatted happily as they walked – or at least, Erica talked, Boyd made the occasional dry comment, and Stiles nodded. They marched him all the way to the door of Derek’s building, where Erica knocked. It was Sunday, so the house was quieter than usual, and Derek was the one who came to the door.

He opened it and looked the three of them up and down in confusion. His eyes settled on Stiles and it seemed that he liked what he saw.

“You’re welcome,” said Erica as Boyd shoved Stiles at Derek.

With that, the two of them turned and walked away into the darkness.

“What was that about?” asked Derek.

Stiles shrugged.

“They took me shopping.”

“I can see that.”

“Too much?” asked Stiles, plucking anxiously at the coat.

“No,” Derek replied, rough low and a little rough. He took Stiles’s wrist and pulled him inside.

Stiles was almost late to class the next morning.


	17. Chapter 17

Spring break came and went in a haze of lazy afternoons spent lying in the grass and frantic nights spent writing papers in the library. Derek had gone back to Laura’s place. He told Stiles something about having been away from his alpha for too long, but Stiles was pretty sure he just missed his sister. Which was legit. Allison hit the road as well so Stiles and Scott spent most of the break together, telling their parents that they needed the library, while what they really needed was the unlimited access to poptarts they had without parental guidance. They hung out with Lydia, Danny, Erica, and Boyd, though the rest of their friends had left for the most part. They ate, watched movies, and did excellent jobs of keeping one another from doing their work.

All in all, it was a good break. While he missed Derek, Stiles had the distractions of his friends and he felt happy and relaxed. It was a good feeling. He remembered back to the beginning of the year when he’d really only had Scott and everyone else had just been friends of friends, merely peripheral. Now, it felt like he’d known them forever. He had a rhythm with them the way he’d only ever had with Scott before and he trusted them. It was a whole different world from the way he’d felt only a few months before when he’d spent so much time avoiding people and meals. He still wasn’t always okay. He still got overwhelmed by his hatred for his body. He still sometimes didn’t want to be seen by anyone ever again. But it was become easier to recognize that those feelings would pass and that, until they did, he could find someone to sit quietly by his side until he felt human enough to talk.

Stiles was bracing himself for a change of pace when break ended, but it turned out he had not braced nearly firmly enough. He knew Derek was planning to come back a day early to get a few things done and Stiles happened to be outside on one of the lawns when the Camaro pulled into the near-by parking lot. Well, “pulled” wasn’t really the right word. Derek’s car skidded around the curve to the lot, nearly going up on two wheels, and slammed into a parking place so violently that Stiles could hear it even at a distance. Derek threw himself out of the car and starting striding towards Stiles, who quickly scrambled to his feet.

“Derek, what—?” he started to ask.

“I know I said I’d be here today, but I have to deal with something. I might not be back tonight,” Derek said, voice frighteningly close to growling.

“What’s going on?” Stiles demanded, grabbing Derek’s arm even as he started back towards his car.

“I just have to deal with something,” he repeated.

“Is it a—,” Stiles glanced around.

“No,” Derek said, answering the unfinished question. “Humans only. Expect me.”

They were nearly to the car now and Derek tried to shake Stiles off of him, but Stiles just pushed into his space, backing Derek up against the side of the car.

“Look, I don’t have time—.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

Derek looked away.

“Are you in trouble?”

“No.”

“What is it then? Derek, please, you’re scaring me.”

Derek ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s not really mine to tell,” he said.

“So why are you involved?” Stiles asked.

“Because someone has to be.”

Stiles looked at the fierce, protective look on Derek’s face.

“It’s Isaac, isn’t it?” he asked quietly, moving away a little to give Derek some space.

After a moment, Derek nodded.

“Can I come with you?”

“No. Isaac asked me to come. Just me. I can’t break his trust.”

Stiles nodded.

“So why are you here?”

“It was on the way and I wanted to check in with you.”

A smile touched Stiles’s lips and he shook his head. Derek could be pretty strange sometimes.

“Alright,” he said. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will.”

Derek kissed him hard for a moment before getting into the car. Stiles moved and watched him drive away.

Stiles spent a tense day waiting for Derek to come back. It was getting towards late when Derek texted him.

_Heading back. Got Isaac. Go to bed._

Stiles, of course, did not go to bed. He was still sitting in the hall lounge when Derek and Isaac appeared around three thirty in the morning. Derek’s body was tense and wary even though so many miles separated Isaac from harm. Stiles didn’t blame him, though, not once he got a look at Isaac.

Isaac looked like he’d been in a bar fight. He was bruised and there was dried blood on his shirt. One of the knees of his jeans was torn and his lower lip was split. He still looked almost shell-shocked around the eyes and he moved carefully, staying close to Derek’s side. Stiles was on his feet at once, forcing himself not to rush towards them.

“Derek. Isaac.”

They stopped in the hall and looked back at Stiles where he stood in the lounge doorway.

Derek shook his head and turned back to Isaac, leading him to his room. They knocked and Scott’s voice told them to come in. Stiles followed them at a distance, getting close enough that he could hear the quiet conversation.

“Isaac! Jesus, what happened?”

“Scott, leave it,” said Derek.

“But he’s—.”

“He’s safe now. That what matters.”

“Did—?”

“Leave it. He needs sleep. It’s late.”

There was silence from the room for a moment.

“Can I do anything?” asked Scott.

“I’ll be okay,” said Isaac after a minute. “Thanks, Derek.”

“Of course.”

Derek came back into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Stiles moved towards him carefully, not sure what Derek was going to want after whatever had happened. Derek gave him a weary smile and nodded slightly. Together, they went down the hall to Stiles’s room. They went inside and Derek closed the door before turning to look at Stiles.

“Do you want to talk?” Stiles asked, uncertainly.

Derek licked his lips and sat down on the bed. Stiles sat beside him and waited for him to speak.

“Isaac texted me saying he was in trouble, asking for help.” Derek spoke slowly, his voice sounding tired and much older than Stiles had ever heard him sound before. “I tried to text him back, but he didn’t reply and I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t have another way to contact him beside email. Then I got a call from a number I didn’t know. It was Isaac. He sounded so scared. He told me his address and started to say something else, but the line cut off. I got in my car and drove. I stopped here, you know that.”

“Why?”

“To make sure you were okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I have been okay?” asked Stiles, not sure if Derek was just being paranoid or if he actually had something to fear.

“I don’t know. It’s just instinct. Since you’re not in my pack, I can’t sense you; I can’t know if you’re safe. I guess the danger instinct just kicked in.”

Stiles nodded. He didn’t really understand, but he didn’t think Derek could explain it any better.

“I got to Isaac’s house and I just went in. I could smell blood and fear and rage. They were in the basement, Isaac and his father. I got Isaac out; I had too. And I brought him back here where he’s safe.”

“Derek,” said Stiles slowly, fear building inside him. “You didn’t—. You didn’t kill Isaac’s dad, did you?”

Derek stared at his hands for a long moment and Stiles felt like he might faint.

“No,” he said at last. “But I thought about it. And I changed in front of him.”

Stiles sucked in a breath.

“No one’s going to believe him, but, well, it’ll probably be a while before he’s out of the hospital.”

There was a long silence.

“What’s going to happen to Isaac?”

“He’ll probably have to testify in court, but I know some people who can help him press charges.”

“Werewolf lawyers?” Stiles asked, a slight, panicked laugh tinting his voice.

“Friends of Laura’s from college.”

Stiles nodded.

“Where’s he going to go over the summer?”

“I don’t know. He’s old enough to live on his own, obliviously, but I’ll talk to Laura about him staying with us if it’s something he wants.”

Stiles thought about everything that Derek had told him while Derek sat in silence, rubbing at smears of blood stained into his jeans.

“So Isaac knows now,” he said.

“Sort of. I don’t know how much he was processing.”

“If he asks?”

“I don’t know.”

After a minute Stiles asked if he wanted to go to sleep and Derek nodded.

“Though I really should slower. I smell like blood.”

“My towel’s pretty clean.”

Derek nodded his thanks and went to go rinse off.

Stiles sat alone, trying not to think to hard about what had happened. When Derek came back, they got into bed without talking much. Derek curled tightly around Stiles, holding him protectively his in strong arms. It made Stiles feel safe, though he wasn’t sure what from.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly spoilery warning at the bottom. Take it or leave it.

It slowly became apparent that Isaac wasn’t going to ask. Though he shot Derek the occasional odd look, it seemed he’d convinced himself that he’d just had some kind of fear-induced hallucination. As the end of the year drew nearer, Isaac became more relaxed. He seemed happier and he talked and smiled more. Things appeared to be okay and Stiles accepted that. At the beginning of the year he would have been getting a “too good to be true” feeling from the whole situation, but now he was too happy to concern himself with that sort of thing. After about six of being on T, he finally felt like he looked noticeably different and Stiles felt good. The worst thing happening was that he needed to get his finals taken care of, but he’d always been a pretty good student and a little stress was nothing foreign.

The last full moon of the school year was fast approaching. Stiles had started paying attention to the cycles of the moon much more closely after he’d first become suspicious of Derek’s true nature. However, he still didn’t know where Derek went on the full moon or what exactly happened to him. Derek had never brought it up and Stiles had just assumed that he didn’t want to talk about it. He couldn’t help being curious, though. Allison had made the full moon sound like a pretty big deal and, given how long Derek would disappear for, Stiles somehow doubted that he was just frolicking around the forest and having a good time.

They were sitting in Stiles’s room, working on their final papers when he finally asked.

“So, what’s going to happen to you tomorrow night?”

Derek went quiet and still.

“Or are you not allowed to talk about it?” asked Stiles quickly, wondering if he’d broken some ancient werewolf taboo.

“No, it’s okay. It’s just not something that I’ve ever tried to explain.” He ran a hand through his hair, frowning as he looked for the right words. “Basically, on the full moon, we lose control and the wolf really takes over.”

“You don’t have control at all?”

“Well, we have some, but not enough for it to be safe and it’s a struggle to keep what we do have,” Derek explained. “You know when you’ve seen me shift before?”

Stiles nodded.

“That’s only a half-form. On the full moon, we turn completely.”

“Into what?”

“Wolves,” said Derek, like Stiles was being stupid.

Stiles had a brief vision of Derek with ears and a tail like an anime character and figured this what not what he was supposed to be picturing.

“Can you only do it on the full moon?” he asked.

“Depends. Alphas can change fully at will and they tend to have much more control so the change can actually be useful if they need to hunt or defend their pack. Omegas – lone wolves without a pack – can only do it when the moon forces them to.”

“What about you?”

“I can do it when I’m with my pack, though being the first beta makes it a little easier.”

“The what?”

“The second in command of the pack and the only wolves besides alphas who can turn people.” A shadow passed over his face. “Though I’m only the first beta by default.”

Stiles tried to make a face that said “interested, but appropriately sympathetic” as he thought about Derek and his two-wolf pack. Judging by the look Derek was giving him, he had not succeeded.

“There are exceptions,” Derek went on. “A few really strong betas can change fully whenever they want. Or if the first beta is essentially an equal to the alpha. Like my mom was the alpha of my pack when I was little, but my dad could change at will because they acted as equals even though he was technically the first beta.”

Stiles nodded, fairly sure he was following, but still feeling confused.

“So what do you do during the full moon?”

“Try not to hurt people.”

“That’s it?”

“We can fight the pull of the moon to some extent, but it’s hard. Only an alpha can keep themself from shifting. The best thing to do is get away from people before you change and focus on your anchor.”

“What’s that?”

“It can be anything, like a feeling or a person, but it’s the thing you focus on to keep yourself grounded in your humanity. If your anchor isn’t strong enough, you lose control completely. It won’t even occur to you that you shouldn’t be killing people until you wake up the next morning covered in blood.”

Stiles swallowed. He wondered what Derek’s anchor was, but it seemed like a very personal question.

“Where do you go?” he asked instead.

“Into the wood across the highway from campus.”

“I’ve heard you,” Stiles said quietly.

“It’s instinct to howl for my pack. It’s how we find each other.”

Stiles nodded.

“Does it hurt?”

“The change?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes. Especially when it’s being forced by the moon. It pulls the wolf out of you.” Derek glanced away, looking slightly pale.

“Can I help?”

“No,” said Derek at once, his voice sharp. “It isn’t safe for me to be near humans, even with a good anchor. We just read them as prey animals.”

Stiles nodded again, lips pushed tight together, and didn’t press Derek for more information.

* * *

The next day, Derek vanished in the late afternoon, promising, as usual, that he’d let Stiles know as soon as he got back to his room the next morning. Allison also slipped away from the group study season in the hall lounge, muttering something about the library, thought Stiles knew she too would not be seen until the next morning.

Noting that both Stiles and Scott seemed a little down, Danny proposed taking a study break later for a trip to the twenty-four hour diner a few miles from campus. They agreed to go after a couple more hours of work of their finals and went back to their books with renewed energy at the promise of a reward. It was fully night by the time Scott, Danny, and Isaac pilled into the Jeep to go eat, leaving the rest of the group to keep working. Stiles tried not to act too jumpy as they walked to the parking lot behind their building. He’d already heard Derek once that night and could have sworn he sounded closer than usual.

The diner was mostly empty when they arrived. Between the late hour and the number of students desperately trying to write final papers, not many people were out and about. They ordered milkshakes and greasy food and enjoyed being able to forget their stress for a little while. A few minutes after arriving, Danny put a ban on talking about finals so they chatted about summer plans and told stories about the stupid shit they’d done in high school. Stiles had a whole repertoire of high school Scott stories, which he told to the great amusement of everyone expect Scott.

Isaac told them that he’d applied for some jobs in the area and was working on getting a sublet for the summer. Stiles was glad to hear that Isaac had a plan far away from his father and hometown. Danny planned to reclaim his high school job as a lifeguard, which Stiles didn’t think was fair or safe. No one that good looking should be allowed to sit around tanning all summer in almost no clothes. He’d probably _cause_ drownings. Scott was going home to work at the animal clinic again. Stiles was going home too, though he didn’t really have a plan. He was hoping to visit Derek and meet Laura at some point, but that was about it.

Eventually, they decided that they really did have to go back to campus and keep working or at least get some sleep. They drove back, still chatting, though now their talk was turning towards the stupid amounts of work they all had left to do. Stiles alone was quiet, watching the darkness anxiously and tensing himself to swerve if anything large and wolf-shaped ran into the road. He knew Derek was out there somewhere and some reckless part of him wanted to be out there too.

They made it back to the dorms without much fuss beyond some mutual teasing and returned to the lounge to keep the twenty-four hour study party rolling. Lydia and Boyd were still there, but Erica had gone to get some sleep. Scott and Isaac agreed to work for another hour and then go to bed. Stiles and Danny settled in for the long haul, Danny surrounded by large books on human rights violations during some war or other and Stiles with his laptop to work on his final project for his media arts class.

Several hours later, Stiles let out a cry of triumph, making his sleepy comrades jump.

“Finished!”

“With everything?” asked Boyd, who’d been drifting off moments before.

“No, just with this.” He turned his laptop around to show his friends.

“What is that?” asked Lydia.

“It’s a digital piece that explores a deep social issue,” Stiles told her, quoting the assignment.

“What’s the deep social issue?”

“Can’t you tell?” asked Stiles, sounding hurt.

Lydia shook her head and Stiles turned his computer back around to look at it again.

“Wait. That’s not the right thing.” He clicked around for a moment. “Here we go.” He showed her again.

“Gender,” she said at once.

“Bingo.” He smiled. “Time to print.”

“Where?”

“Film and photo has nice printers and the right kind of paper.”

“Isn’t it closed?” asked Boyd.

“Naw, our TA told us there are seniors in there twenty-four/seven this time of year. And then I can stick it right into my professor’s box and be done with the stupid thing.” He got to his feet, stretching. “See you guys in bit.”

They waved to him without much energy.

Stiles tucked his flashdrive into his pocket and headed out into the night. It was late moving into early and Stiles felt like he would just keel over from exhaustion if it weren’t for the prospect of getting one of his finals turned in. He made it to film and photo and the building was, indeed, unlocked. He nodded to bleary-eyed seniors trying to get their last few photos developed properly or re-edit one last scene in their movie. It only took a minor battle with the printer to get his project on paper and he begged a sharpie off an exhausted-looked girl to write his name on the back. He slipped it into his professor’s box and waited till he was outside before doing a triumphant fist-pump.

He decided to take a slightly roundabout way back to the dorms. The cool air felt good and woke him up a little. Maybe slightly prolonged exposure would wake him up enough that he could get something else done before passing out. He found himself wondering through the field where the lacrosse team played. He stared into the woods that the grass backed up to and tried not to think about his hatred for certain members of the lacrosse team. If nothing else, the summer would get him away from Jackson for about three months. He knew he’d miss Derek, but he would have Scott and they could probably do decent jobs of distracting each other from missing their respective SOs.

Stiles must have been less awake than he thought he was because he was sure, for a moment, that he saw something moving in the woods. The shape was large and dark and made something deep and primal inside of Stiles very afraid. A moment later, however, it was gone. He rubbed his eyes, frowning and thinking that maybe he should just go to bed when he got back.

Then Stiles realized what he’d seen.

He froze, trying his best to fight against his flight instinct. Running just made predators give chase, right? He could feel his heart hammering in his chest and he struggled to keep his breathing quiet. He wondered wildly what Derek was doing on campus. He said he stayed away from people. Was his control slipping for some reason?

Stiles tried to peer into the dark woods, but he couldn’t see anything. Slowly, he started backing away from the trees, moving as quietly as he could, praying he didn’t step on the stick or something. He reminded himself that he wasn’t living in a horror movie. He’d be okay. He was already about halfway across the field and he started walking a little more quickly.

Something in the trees moved again, faster this time, and Stiles couldn’t help it. He bolted and was sprinting towards the rest of campus before he’d even thought about it. He ran as hard as he could, but, over the sounds of his falling feet and pounding heart and rushing blood, he could somehow hear the creature gaining on him. He hadn’t made it across half the remaining distance between himself and the road when something heavy hit him in the back.

Stiles went sprawling, falling hard on his face and feeling all the air rush out of his lungs. He struggled to roll over and managed to get himself on his back just in time to see the wolf move in above his face.

The creature had thick, black fur that bristled along its spin. White fangs stood out against the shadowy beast and Stiles could just see the thin whites of its huge, black eyes. There was something dark and glistening on its muzzle and Stiles couldn’t tell if it was saliva or blood. Its ears were swiveled down towards Stiles, hearing his gasping breaths and racing heart. Stiles wanted to open his mouth and beg Derek not to do this, not to hurt him, but, even if he’d had enough air to get the words out, he knew Derek wouldn’t hear him. Derek was not in this monster. He couldn’t be.

It watched Stiles for a long moment, mouth open, giving him a view of its pink tongue. He had a brief, wild thought of all the times he’d kissed Derek and felt sick. He couldn’t comprehend how this creature could be the man he cared about so much and yet he knew that this beast was somehow made of the arms that held him, the mouth he kissed. He’d slept with this thing, pulled it close and moaned out its name into the dark. _Derek._ The animal above him was Derek, ready to kill him, not the faintest hint of recognition in its eyes. For an instant, that was what scared Stiles the most: the fact that Derek did not know him, the idea that he might have lost for him good.

The monster growled, low and thousand times more powerful than Derek ever had, and the primordial terror flooded Stiles’s body again, sweeping away any thoughts he’d had for the man the fiend had been that afternoon. Stiles was frozen with horror, unable to even try to scramble away. He could feel the creature’s hot breath on his face, but he couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear anything over the pounding in his ears as his heart tried to get in just a few more frantic beats.

Derek was about to kill him.

Allison had been right.

The monster was standing over him, straddling him in a way that horribly shadowed the familiar. Stiles couldn’t see the moon anymore; it was too low in the sky and he had the fleeting hope that it would set at just the right moment. The beast inhaled slowly, breathing in the scent of Stiles and his terror. Maybe it would recognize the smell and not kill him. Stiles’s wild thoughts chased each other around his mind, as his terror grew stronger and stronger than he could have possibly imagined.

Stiles screamed when the monster sank its teeth into his flesh.

Pain blocked out everything else. It shot through his body, drowning out his other senses, overwhelming fear and crescendoing from agony into something far beyond feeling. It swept through him, tearing his fast-numbing body apart in preparation to rebuild it into something else, something terrible. He couldn’t even tell if he was still screaming. He couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t see the creature anymore, couldn’t see his blood pouring from his side or dripping from its fangs onto his skin. He couldn’t see anything. Everything was dark as the wolf’s inhuman eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some violence in this chapter, but I wouldn’t say that it’s graphic. It’s mostly fear.
> 
> Also, yes, I know, I totally rewrote the werewolf rules. There are reasons, though.
> 
> Enjoy your weekend, guys!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for blood, but, again, nothing too graphic.

When Stiles opened his eyes, it took him a moment to bring the vague green stuff around him into focus. He was lying in grass, which made no sense, and his shirt was sticking to him strangely. His whole body ached and his head was pounding worse than his first hangover. He must have been really drunk to have fallen asleep outside and not remember it. He wondered if Derek would come looking for him.

Derek.

It all came rushing back and Stiles’s first thought was to be glad that he wasn’t dead. He tried to push himself up onto his elbows to look around, but the muscles didn’t respond properly. He found he could turn his head and saw Derek lying in the grass a few feet away, gloriously naked in the morning light. When Stiles managed to look away from that sight, he turned his attention to himself. Craning his neck, he could see that his shirt was shredded and he was covered in blood. He pawed at his numb chest anxiously, but it was hard to feel the wounds properly through the ribbons of blood-soaked fabric.

Until his fingers fumbled over a wound on his lower ribs.

It was bite mark.

Stiles felt the blood drain from his face and he felt dizzy.

“Derek?” he called quietly, fear strangling his voice. “Derek? Are you okay? Derek?”

Derek stirred, lifting his face and rubbing at his head. There was grass stuck to his cheek and would have been funny if Stiles hadn’t felt like vomiting from fear.

“Stiles?” he asked, sounding confused and disoriented. “What are you—?” Derek’s eyes widened as they traveled from Stiles’s frightened face to his torn and bloodied clothes to then to the wound on his side. Derek scrambled to over to him, movements frantic and desperate. “No,” he muttered, pressing his hands to the injury. “No, no, no. God, no. Stiles.” He looked up and met Stiles’s gaze.

“Derek?” he asked, praying that Derek would tell him something other than what he was sure was the truth.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Stiles peered up at him. He felt weak, like he’d lost a lot blood, which, judging by the state of his shirt, he had. Even though he remembered what had happened, or at least most of it, everything seemed very surreal. What he thought had happened couldn’t be what had really happened, could it? Derek would never have done that to him. Derek wouldn’t have betrayed his trust. Stiles remembered the face of that creature – that _thing_ – that had bitten him. That had not been Derek.

He tried to focus on Derek’s face, desperate to see the humanity that he knew was there – that _had_ to be there. Derek’s face was shadowy, his nose, mouth, and chin obscured by a darkness that made no sense.

“You’ve got—.”

“What?” asked Derek, concern filling his voice.

“Your face,” Stiles persisted, his addled brain telling him that it was important.

Derek wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and stared at the dark substance that came away, looking sick. Stiles stared at it too.

It was blood.

“I don’t feel so good,” he managed to slur out.

“Hang on. I can get you out of here.”

Derek got to his feet and Stiles made a weak noise of protest.

“It’s okay. I’ll be right back.”

Stiles watched Derek jog to the tree line, search around for a moment, and the produce a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from somewhere. He returned to Stiles and knelt down beside him.

“I’m going to pick you up, alright?”

Stiles nodded, making his head spin.

Derek gently lifted Stiles, one arm under his knees and the other against his shoulder blades, carrying him like a child.

“Put your arm around my neck.”

Stiles managed to comply, though he didn’t have the strength to hold on properly. Derek supported his weight easily and he felt small and exposed. Derek carried him back towards the rest of campus in silence. It was just passed dawn and no one was outside. Stiles pressed against the warmth of Derek’s body and tried not to think about what had happened. He felt himself slipping towards unconsciousness again and the next thing he knew, he was inside and Derek was lowering him carefully onto a bed.

“Derek?”

“Just lie still. I’ll be right back.”

Stiles closed his eyes and let himself slide away into darkness until a coldness on his face pulled him back. Derek had a wet cloth pressed to his forehead and was cutting the remains of his shirt and binder off him.

“Where—?” Stiles asked.

“In my room.”

“Am I okay?” He knew there were only two ways this could go and he didn’t feel like he’d just gained superhuman abilities.

“You’re going to be fine,” Derek said.

Stiles remembered when his dad had said the same thing about his mom in the hospital.

Derek started cleaning the wounds on his sides with more cool cloths and Stiles had a momentary flash of guilt for staining all of Derek’s washcloths with blood.

“Is it bad?” he asked, trying to sit up and look at his chest.

Derek gently pushed him back down.

“Hold still. You don’t want to make it worse.” Derek’s voice was very tight, though he clearly was trying to be soothing.

Like the words, the tone was familiar and it did not herald recovery.

Stiles found Derek’s wrist and stilled his hand in its careful, desperate cleaning.

“Derek,” he said quietly.

Derek looked at him, not quite meeting his eyes. Stiles could see pain and shame and self-hatred all burning on his face and he had to close his eyes for a moment before looking back at Derek.

“Please don’t lie to me.”

“I won’t,” he said, his voice catching.

“Then tell me the truth. Am I going to die?”

Derek’s gazed flicked to Stiles’s eyes briefly, but he couldn’t hold the look. He turned, focusing instead on Stiles’s wounded chest.

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “It’s too soon to tell if your body is rejecting—.”

“The bite.”

“I’m sorry.”

“S’not your fault,” Stiles told him, his voice starting to fail again.

“Yes, it is. I did this to you.”

“Not your fault,” he repeated weakly.

“There’s nothing I can do.”

“You’re doing it.”

“You could die,” Derek said, desperation closing his throat so tightly around the words that they barely made it out of his mouth.

“That’s life,” replied Stiles, his eyes starting to close.

“Stiles?” he said sharply. “Stiles, you need to stay awake. That’s a thing about blood loss, isn’t it? Is it?” He swallowed back panic. “Fuck. I never needed to learn human first aid.”

Stiles forced himself to focus on Derek’s voice. It was the voice of someone who needed help and Stiles knew he was the only one there to give it to him. He managed to open his eyes again.

“Scott’s a vet,” he murmured.

“He can’t know.”

“Allison. Her training. Number’s in my phone.”

He couldn’t keep his eyes open. It was costing him everything, costing him more than his weak body could afford.

“She’ll kill me. She could kill us both.”

“Better idea?” Stiles whispered.

“Shit.”

Stiles was vaguely aware of Derek trying to get his phone from his pocket and then everything was darkness and silence.

* * *

“Allison, please. I can explain.” Derek’s voice was low and frantic and there was enough fear in it that Stiles managed to open his eyes again.

“What the hell did you do to him?” she demanded.

Stiles could make out something in her hand and, eventually, his brain processed it as a small crossbow leveled at Derek.

“Just help him. He could be dying.”

“You mean you might have killed him,” snapped Allison.

“ _Please_.”

“’llison,” Stiles muttered.

“Stiles? What happened?” Her voice was an odd mix of concern and anger.

“If I live, I’ll explain everything.” Just getting the full sentence out made his head spin even worse and his vision started to go black around the edges.

Allison was still for a moment and then she lowered her crossbow and started murmuring quick instructions to Derek.

The next twenty-four hours or so passed in a haze for Stiles. He floated in and out of consciousness, sometimes seeing Derek and sometimes Allison when he managed to get his eyes open.

So, he thought to himself, this is what dying feels like. Good to know.

* * *

Stiles woke up and it felt different. He knew instinctually that he was waking from proper sleep rather than from fainting. He looked around and saw Derek sitting on the edge of the bed and Allison standing tensely by the door.

“Stiles,” Derek said, seeing his eyes open. He got up and came to kneel by Stiles’s head.

“Have you decided if I’m dying yet?” he asked.

Derek smiled weakly. A joking Stiles was a living Stiles.

“See for yourself.”

He gently took Stiles’s hand and guided it to where the bite wound had been. There was nothing there but smooth skin.

“So I’m—?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles nodded.

“You said you’d explain,” said Allison edgily, pushing away from the wall to stand closer to Stiles.

“Can I have a shirt first?” he asked. For one thing, he didn’t want Allison to see him topless anymore than she already had and, for another, he needed time to think.

“Of course.” Derek turned to Allison. “Give him a minute?”

She nodded curtly and left, though Stiles was sure she was standing right outside the door.

“Stiles,” said Derek, his voice low and quick, ready to plan or argue.

Stiles shook his head.

“Lemme think.”

Derek nodded and brought Stiles a t-shirt, which was huge on him, and an equally large sweatshirt. It was too warm to wear both, but Stiles took put them on anyway, desperate for the protection brought by layers.

There was a tap on the door.

“Dressed?” asked Allison.

Derek shot Stiles a desperate look.

“It’ll be okay,” Stiles told him softly before calling to Allison. “Yeah.”

She came in and stood by the bed. Stiles was sitting up now, the blanket across his lap. Someone had gotten him out of his jeans at some point and Stiles really hoped it had been Derek.

“So,” she said. “What happened?”

“Short story? Derek bit me last night.”

“He did a little more than bite you. Your chest was in ribbons. You were passing out from blood loss.”

“It happens,” Stiles said shortly.

“And how would you know?”

“Derek told me it might happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Derek doesn’t feel the need to lie to me,” he said coolly.

Allison narrowed her eyes.

“Think you could be a little more specific about what happened?”

“Derek bit me. I turned. It worked.” He returned her glare.

Allison took a step backwards.

“What do you mean it worked?”

“I think that’s pretty clear. I asked him to turn me and he did. Do you have a rule against that in your code?”

“No,” said Allison quietly, staring at Stiles.

Just out of her view, Derek was giving Stiles a shocked look, but Stiles kept his cool.

“So I take it that you won’t kill us?”

“Did he tell you everything?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

She nodded.

“I have to go.”

“To do what?” Derek demanded, speaking at last. “Call in cavalry?”

“We like to keep track of packs and how many wolves are in an area,” she said simply.

Stiles looked at her, dark and even.

“No one’s going to hurt either of you. No hunters, anyway.” With that, she turned and left.

Stiles and Derek sat in silence until the outside door closed behind her.

Both of them heard it.

“You lied to her,” Derek said quietly.

“Did you think I was going to let her kill you?”

“You’d have been right to,” he said, getting up and pacing away from Stiles.

“Derek, listen. Think about it this way.”

He stopped across the small room from the bed and looked back.

“You’ve done the worst thing you could do to me, the thing you were most afraid of doing, and I’m fine. I’m fine, Derek.”

“That’s because you haven’t thought it all through yet.”

“Okay, so it’s not perfect, but I’m also not dead and, you know what, right now I’ll take that.” Stiles sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I should get back to my hall. Scott’ll be freaking out by now. What day is it?”

“I texted Scott from your phone saying you were working over here. And you were out for about a day.”

“Jesus. Is that normal?”

“It varies.”

“Still, I’ve got another final to finish. Shit. Will your pants even fit me?”

Derek stared at him.

“I can’t leave here with no pants and I imagine mine aren’t looking so good.”

Derek kept staring.

“What?” asked Stiles.

“I thought you were going to die. A few hours ago, I thought you were going to die and now you’re talking about your school work.”

“Ta-da.”

“Stiles—,” Derek began.

“Look, I really just need to be alone for a little while, okay? Unless something else weird is going to happen?”

“No, you should be good for, you know, a month.” Derek looked pale, but like he was trying.

“It’ll be alright,” Stiles assured him. “I just need a little time to process.”

Derek nodded.

Stiles got up and went over to him. Derek shied away at first, but he let Stiles take his hand.

“Derek. Are _you_ okay?”

“You trusted me,” he said quietly, still not meeting Stiles’s eyes.

“I do trust you.”

“I ruined your life.”

“No, you just made it a little more complicated.”

Derek nodded, but he looked unconvinced.

“Do you want me to stay?” Stiles asked.

“You should do what you need to do,” said Derek quietly.

“Okay. I’m going to go back to my room. I’ll text you later?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles and Derek stood in silence for a few moments, each trying to find some clue in the other as to what was going to happen.

“I’m not mad, you know that, right?”

“Like you said, you need time to process.”


	20. Chapter 20

Stiles never really was sure how he got through his finals, but, somehow, he managed it. He didn’t think about what had happened to him; he just finished his papers and took his exams. Once they were over, however, he had nothing to focus on. He sat in his room, trying to gather the energy to pack up all of his things for the summer, but without the distraction of his schoolwork, he couldn’t not think about what had happened.

He was a werewolf.

He was a fucking werewolf and it was Derek’s fault.

Not that Derek had been in control of himself, but Derek had said he had an anchor, said he stayed away from people. Stiles had been so sure Derek would never lie to him and yet...

_Why was your anchor weak that night?_

It was the first text Stiles had sent Derek since before the full moon. They hadn’t talked or seen each other since Stiles had slunk back to his hall, dodging questions about where he’d been and why he was dressed in Derek’s clothes.

Derek didn’t text back.

Stiles tried not to sit staring at his phone, tried to focus on something – _anything_ – other than Derek and what he’d done. But what else was there? What else could possibly matter?

Someone knocked on his door.

“Go away,” said Stiles, dully. He knew it wasn’t Derek. Derek didn’t smell like that.

“Stilinski?”

The shock of hearing Jackson’s voice outside his door was enough to make Stiles look up.

“Jackson?”

“Can I talk to you?”

Stiles thought for a moment.

“What about?” he asked.

“I just—.” Jackson sighed. “Look. Can I come in? Please?”

“Alright. But only because you asked nicely.”

Stiles scrambled to sit upright and try to look like he’d gotten out of bed since his last exam before Jackson entered his room. It was a strange sight, the imposing young man standing awkwardly in his doorway. Where Derek should be.

“What’s up?” asked Stiles.

“I just wanted to—. I mean, I figured I should—.”

“ _What_?” Stiles did not have time to deal with this. He didn’t want to deal with whatever stupid thing Jackson wanted to talk to him about.

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles stared at him.

“Are you transferring?” he asked after a moment.

“What?”

“Or did Lydia tell you she’d take your sorry ass back if you apologized to me?”

“What are you talking about, Stilinski?”

Stiles got to his feet, angry and hurt, but ready to face Jackson again.

“There has to be a reason. You’re wrapping up loose ends or trying to get something you want.”

“I’m just apologizing, okay?”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Why would I be lying?” Jackson asked, sounding confused and irritated.

“Because you haven’t given me a single damn reason to believe that you would honestly be sorry for what you did to me.” Anger boiled inside Stiles and he suddenly realized he was speaking very loudly. He didn’t care. “You make my life a fucking hell. College was supposed to better. It was supposed to be where I got away from people like you. But no. No, I couldn’t have that one fucking thing!”

Jackson took a step back and Stiles noticed that he looked frightened. Not nervous or on edge, but genuinely scared. Stiles felt strong.

“What?” he demanded and it came out like a snarl.

“Your— your eyes,” Jackson stammered.

Stiles froze as it hit him what was happening. He stumbled back, legs hitting his bed and he felt weak.

“I—. I’m sorry.”

“What just happened?”

“Nothing. Stress.”

Jackson looked like he wanted to ask, but then decided that he really didn’t want to know.

“Did you mean that?” Stiles asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

Stiles nodded.

“Thanks.”

Jackson nodded back and left, still looking unsettled.

Stiles dropped onto his bed, trying not to think about what could have just happened.           

He was starting to realize that Derek had been right about having ruined his life. And not just because of what had happened with Jackson. His suddenly heightened senses were driving him up the wall. He could hear people one floor up and three rooms over having sex. He could hear Scott and Isaac chatting as they packed. He could hear Danny on the phone with him mom. He could smell the bathroom and feel the heat every time someone took a shower. He could sense two presences in the back of his mind and he knew instinctually that they were Laura and Derek. His pack. He wanted to go to them. He wanted to comfort the fear and self-loathing he could feel from Derek. He wanted to hide in the protection he knew Laura could give him. He heard the _beep_ of the building’s electric lock, three floors down, and jumped.

He was dangerous now. He could kill and he would be hunted for it. He could hurt anyone at any moment from Allison to Scott to his own father. He could feel the monster inside his very soul, aching to be released. He could sense the moon, close, but not in control of his body. He hadn’t tried to shift properly yet. He was too scared.

There were other things too. He wasn’t sure if his injections would still work, but he was sure that even if they did administering them would become a lot harder. His body would heal around the needle and quite possibly reject any of the hormones he managed to get into his muscle. His stomach had dropped horribly when he’d realized the worst thing, the thing that convinced him Derek really had ruined his life. The one thing he wanted above anything else, he couldn’t ever have. Never.

_I can’t get surgery._

Derek didn’t text back.

He hadn’t heard from Derek in almost a week and one morning Stiles woke up to find that Derek’s presence in his mind had changed. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but it felt different and Stiles couldn’t help being scared that something had happened to him. He got up, dressed, and hurried to Derek’s apartment. He hammered on the door until one of Derek’s housemates opened it. Cody was a large guy, who studied engineering and looked like he ought to be living in a frat house. He squinted at Stiles, rubbing a hand over his morning stubble.

“Stiles? It’s early, man.”

“Sorry, but I need to talk to Derek.”

Cody frowned.

“Derek? He moved out last night. Didn’t he tell you?”

“What?” Stiles took a shocked step backwards. Derek had left him. All alone. At least that explained why he couldn’t feel Derek’s emotions as strongly now. “Did he leave anything?”

“I dunno. Maybe some stuff in the kitchen? He didn’t bring that much shit with him.”

Stiles nodded, not really hearing Cody’s words.

“No note? No nothing?”

“Don’t think so. Sorry, dude.”

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t. “Thanks, Cody.”

“No problem.”

Cody went back inside and closed the door. Stiles started to walk away, but stopped. He turned back and looked up at Derek’s empty, dark window.

He’d been abandoned.

Stiles felt fear surge through his body. Was if this was just the first step? What if the next one was Derek and Laura vanishing from his mind completely? What if this was the beginning of his pack leaving him? He’d never even met Laura the idea of her stranding him alone in the world was more terrifying than anything else Stiles could think of.

Stiles stood alone in the grass outside of the apartment that had been Derek’s. He felt both filled to bursting with terror and loss and utterly empty. His life – his whole world – had been as totally shredded as his body. Expect that now his body could heal. His world, on the other hand, was still in tatters and it was only getting worse. Stiles was alone. Alone with nothing.

“Stiles?”

Stiles jumped. He’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard the footsteps or noticed the scent he suddenly realized he knew better than any other.

“Hey, Scott,” he said, turning around.

“Are you okay? Did something happen with you and Derek?”

Stiles couldn’t manage to reply. How had Scott even found him here?

“Did you fight?”

“You could say that,” Stiles muttered.

“I’m sorry.”

“I can’t lose him.”

Scott sighed and approached Stiles, putting a hand gently on his shoulder.

“It’ll be okay. Even if it doesn’t work out with you two, you’ll still be okay, Stiles.”

Stiles nodded, throat tight. Even if Scott couldn’t understand what he was really talking about, the comfort still counted for something, though it wasn’t much.

“What happened?”

“He left. Last night. He didn’t even tell me. He hasn’t talked to me for days.”

“Why?”

“I think,” said Stiles slowly, answers coming to him as he spoke. “I think he’s scared. I think he’s scared that he hurt me.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah,” Stiles admitted. “But he’s hurting me a lot more now.”

Scott nodded, giving Stiles’s shoulder a little squeeze.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go back to my room. I’m going to pack up all my stuff. I’m going to go home. And then,” he fixed his eyes on Scott, gaze clear and focused, “I’m going to go visit Derek.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Scott asked.

Stiles smiled, feeling something feral and determined in his own face. He knew it was a shade of the monster, but, for now, he was controlling it, taking its power for his own.

“No, but I have to try,” he said. “Even if it doesn’t work out, even if we can’t fix this, we both deserve to understand what happed. We need that.” He looked out at the morning sun on the grass and buildings and in the trees on the edge of campus. For the first time since before the full moon, he felt strong and almost peaceful. He could master the monster. He could live his life and, maybe, stitch the tattered pieces of his world back together, one by one. “We need it so we can be whole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s a wrap! Thank you guys so much for reading this and for all of the lovely comments you’ve left; they're so great to read. I want to give a special shout out to Quinfish, Lunalikewell, and Bondboy68 for helping me with the story and the facts and motivating me through this. You may have noticed that this work is now part of a series so you guys should check that out. If I can keep this up, it’ll be a three-part deal (not counting any side stories that happen).
> 
> I got a fair few questions on the last two chapters regarding how the bite will affect Stiles’s transition. Some of those will be addressed in the next story and some won’t be. I will deal with all of it eventually, but you’ll be getting answers as Stiles gets them (and as I figure them out).
> 
> Again, thanks for your support on this story and I hope you keep reading!


End file.
